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I got these yummy morsels in my Christmas stocking. They had been stashed in a bag, which was wadded up and jammed in a cupboard. You know: out of sight, out of mind? HA! Those damn Butterfingers have been shouting at me for 24 hours: "Eat me! We're sweet and crunchy and delicious! One or four won't hurt! EAT ME!" (Does this happen to you -- food bellowing at you? Yes? Good! I was worried it was only me.)
Like yesterday, I ate a wholesome breakfast, super low-fat lunch, a banana, some grapes...and then I heard the muffled yet irresistible siren call of the Butterfingers. Somehow, the wadded up bag ended up out of the cupboard and on the couch next to me. I successfully ignored it for a couple of hours, thinking about how lame I'd feel when I was finished shoveling them in.
And then Fate intervened. Immediately after cat dinner time, I heard plaintive mewling from the living room. I assumed it was Napoleon (aka Captain Nap) and his sister Squeaky the Cat playing. The mewling grew louder, and then it turned into a repeated "blerph!" Yes, old Capt. Nap regurgitated his half of the duck-flavored canned food he has to eat because of a food allergy. That stuff smells gross from the can; you can imagine how it smells upon being expelled. I cleaned it up and, feeling slightly nauseated, put the Butterfingers away. So, thank you, Napoleon, for vomiting.
