My addiction. Do I think about them every day? No. But if I see them somewhere, I stop dead in my tracks and remember.
The forgiveness of the shell as you squeeze to reveal the inner contents. The warm juice that trickles down your fingers. And finally, the salty, nutty innards that always leave you wanting more. And more. And more.
My mother and daughter think I have a problem. I deny it. I gingerly take a few out of the container when they are around. But when they aren’t in the room I race to the refrigerator, grab a handful and gobble them down with the speed of a jaguar.
Chomp Chomp Chomp…
“Hey Mom, do you know where my… umm… what’s in your mouth?”
It’s all Morris Farm Market’s fault. They have the best boiled peanuts I have ever had. Furthermore, they are on the way to the beach house. I pass by them every Friday evening. And you can get TWO containers for under ten dollars.
I get one for me and one for everyone else.
I must say though… no one else has had any. I don’t know WHO keeps eating that second batch!