Confessions of a Chip & Salsa Addict

I don't recall the first time I experimented with chips and salsa, but I know I was young. Perhaps I was home alone and stumbled across my parents' and decided, "hey, why not? I've seen mom and dad enjoy this". Regardless, I was a full blown addict by the age of 12.

I remember some crazy experimentation in junior high. While most of my peers were worried about 8th grade geography, I was busy mixing ranch and salsa. Those were dark days for sure. What is sad is that I never admitted that I had a problem. I would find reasons in high school to get everyone to go to Chili's rather than a movie. Then, subtly as I sat in the restaurant booth, I would ask for one of those "bottomless baskets of chips and salsa" with my Old Timer burger.

Nobody asked, but everyone knew. I was able to keep the habit in check throughout my teen years and even through college. It was probably due to the fact that I was operating on a limited income and could not afford to regularly "kiss the tortilla and tomato".

Everything changed when I got a real job. Suddenly I had disposable income that I could use on anything I wanted. Most people fancy new clothes or a sporty car. Not me. With my first paycheck I went to Kroger and stood paralyzed with awe at all the choices. Doritos and Tostitos, Pace and Ortega, Regular and Baked.

I have had some dark nights. Nights I am shamed to mention. I would be lying if I said there had not been numerous times where the urge has driven me to open a bag and crack a can and before I knew it, I'd cleaned both out completely.

I didn't think I could go any lower. That is, until last week. I found myself watching the AFC championship game on television and that familiar, haunting desire overwhelmed me. I tried to fight it, but my lips desired that thrilling saltiness. As I rose from my arm chair and stumbled into the kitchen I opened my cupboards and refrigerator to find no chips and no salsa.

I was torn. I did not know what to do, and that was when I took the addiction too far. I saw left over pita bread on the bottom shelf of my refrigerator and chunky marinara spaghetti sauce right above it. In an insane move, I actually stripped the pita bread into pieces and used them as chips in a bottle of spaghetti sauce. It gave me my fix, but I was sickened at myself. What kind of monster have I become?