Let me tell you a sad tale of endless woe.
When I was little - maybe like 9 or 10, my sister Janine was making a Cheez Whiz sandwich. I noticed, with awe, that she could get a lot of Cheez Whiz on the knife at once - eliminating the need to go back to the jar over and over to maximize the fake-cheesiness on her bread. As a clumsy, sausage-fingered kid, I was unable to perform such a wonderful task on my own sandwich.
So, I asked Janine how she did it. Her reply? "That's the Cheez Whiz secret. You don't get to know that until you're 12".
Birthdays came and went... every year, I counted down the years left until I too could spread orange oil-based substances like a pro. This was better than waiting until 14 to get a learner's permit, better than 18 to vote, better than 60 to get senior's discounts. I was going to be the Cheez Whiz master!
The day finally came, March 11, 1988. This would be the day I could finally learn the secret - a bit of family tradition passed down to each new generation of Babowals on their 12th birthday. I asked my sister, with bated breath, what the secret was.
TURNS OUT THERE'S NO CHEEZ WHIZ SECRET!
I guess when you're older, your hands work better. Thanks Janine for ruining my childhood. That was the day I left the innocence of the child behind and learned that the world deals out disappointments in spades.
1 comment:
oh -wah, wah, wah. Grow up.
And where did you say you are staying this weekend??
If you are really lucky, I'll show you the syrup secret this weekend. Normally you don't get to learn it until you are 38.
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