The Craving: Ode On A Tall Red Can

Oh Mr. Pringles
You big smiling potato head on a tall red can.
Not a big chip fan in my youth,
I looked upon your fair crispy countenance with skepticism,
My sweets-biased disdain apparent as I reached for other tasty treats along the path to adulthood.
You were patient.

But Mr. Pringles,
There you were on a miniature tall red can
Somewhere on the Amalfi Coast
From the back of a minibar your mustachioed potato head beckoned,
Pringles and Pelligrino - a suprisingly satifying honeymoon treat each afternoon with a revelation - Chips Taste Better In Italy.
(indeed everything tastes better in Italy)

Then Mr. Pringles,
Back in the States your tall red can
Ostracized, Lampooned, Maligned in the press!
You were only trying to do your part to stop the national obesity epidemic!
How were you to know that Olean caused anal leakage?
The Italians do not have Olean. What is this travesty? How could we possibly enjoy you now?
I wheeled my cart past you in the StarMarket, your potato head red with shame - as red as the untouched rows of tall cans that nobody wanted.
The butt of SNL jokes.

But Mr. Pringles,
Time heals all wounds and your tall red can
Was eventually given a fresh slate, wiped clean of Olean, and on a whim
Pelligrino and Pringles appear in the grocery cart - an attempt to recapture the
balcony moments of paradise lost... moments re-found on wedding anniversaries and other road trips of our twenties.

And now Mr. Pringles,
Here we are.
We're not getting any younger.
Your mysterious mustachioed potato head like a beacon
In the supermarket.
You are my one and only.
The one and only legitimate craving of my latest 9 month confinement.
Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and any time in between - I hear the siren song of the tall red can.
Free of preservatives, free of trans fatty oils, and free of Olean.
The crunch of dried potato goodness echoing as can after can disappears.
More than a snack - an escape!

For I can close my eyes and remember our first chance meeting
In the hotel mini bar.
When I reached past the Perroni and the biscuits
Somewhere between the Orange-ina and the Nutella
And saw you there waiting.
We ate the fruit and saw the light.
Joy! Joy! Joy!

Oh you,
Crispy, cute Mr. Pringles.