Baked not Fried

I could eat a bag of Cheetos a day. The full fat ones. The bags that allegedly contain four to six servings but true aficionadas, such as myself, only count as one. But I don't succumb to the siren song of extra crunchy anymore. Somehow I have managed to maintain my restraint, unlike my lack of restraint when an attack of Reisen's chocolates hits. 

Because several months ago I discovered the baked version of Cheetos. Oh thank you thank you Frito Lay. I've only seen them in the small bags so my addiction is still under control, but it could escalate, since they have less than half the fat, fewer calories, not quite so much salt, and none of the guilt. They are my treat at lunchtime. My reward for eschewing Hostess Ho Ho's for dessert. I love that the word "chew" is embedded in eschew. Don't ask me to say it out loud. That's one of the words I never use in conversation, I only write in sentences. 

Yesterday something happened. Eating in the car, as I am wont to do, I reached into the bag in that absent minded way of people who would eat cat litter if it were cheese flavored, and assumed I had put a Baked Cheeto into my mouth. Only it wasn't. It was a glob of the cheese flavoring which had collected itself into a wad of concentrated ptui.

Apparently some of the stuff got into the bag without any supervision. Without being properly attached to a Cheeto. The only way to describe the taste and texture of that moment is to imagine a dust fuzzy coated in cheese. And covered with a whole shaker of salt.

I was driving. I needed to spit the cheese ball out. But I don't have a toilet in the car, all appearances to the contrary. And I didn't have a tissue close by. There was a box somewhere in the back, but I stopped climbing in the rear seat while driving a long time ago.  So I swallowed it. 

Now, ever since, I have felt compelled to finish bottle after bottle of Snapple tea. I've emptied all the half filled containers of water in the car. And I almost drank from the toilet in the middle of the night.

Next time I will shake the bag and squeeze the bottom to prevent another unfortunate incident. Epecially the thirst in the middle of the night problem. But there's a larger issue I have to deal with now. I can no longer reach into a bag of Baked Cheetos with the confidence of someone who knows what they're getting. Ah, the loss of innocence.