People tell me I am unpredictable, but, if there is one constant in my life it is my nightly bowl of popcorn. I munch, even now as I clatter away at the keyboard. I'm zany crazy about the stuff. Denied my daily indulgence of it, I become, not quite dejected, but a bit off kilter. Not sociopath wacko or Texas Chain Saw Massacre homicidal. But, I feel unfulfilled, somehow.
I'm not yet addicted (at least, I don't think so) to the buttery little puffs that soften to a satisfying mass between my back molars. I mean, there are plenty of times when my horoscope just doesn't hold the promise of popcorn. As astrological fate would have it, there are times when it's just not convenient to be hauling around your hot air popper. (Someone should design a collapsible model!)
I've learned to tuck a few bags of the microwaveable variety into my overnight bag when I travel. This doesn't mean I have a popcorn abuse problem, it just means I am old enough to know how to get my needs met. There is nothing worse than discovering (at 2 AM while clad in your PJs) that all the vending machines in the entire motel are out of Orville's.
Lest you should think I am injuring my health with my inordinate consumption of a snack food, let me reassure you that no butter is involved in my luscious little habit. A bit of olive oil drizzled with a certain amount of abandon and a sprinkle of salt substitute tossed upon the heaping mound are enough to please my taste buds. And no food cops have to issue a warrant for my arrest.
A day without popcorn is like a day without __________. You fill in the blank.