I don’t give a shit. I fucking love chips. I could not live without potato chips. When I lived in Barcelona for a month I ate Ruffle brand chips and gelato for breakfast everyday on my way to Barceloneta, the closest beach. Everyday. I was in Spain. I could have eaten anything and I carried around a bag of Ruffles with me everywhere I went.
I still can’t eat a sandwich without a side of chips. Slices of apple won’t help. Maybe a pickle, but I’d rather eat a pickle and chips. Actually, I don’t even like sandwiches that much, but we can talk about that later.
When I’m hungover there’s no cure like chips and a Coke. I can only sub chips’ grease with fries, but if I’m at home without a fryer, chips are the only thing that truly makes me feel better. Yes, even over eggs.
My only problem — the chip addiction not being the problem — is I only like plain chips. I love ruffled/ridged chips, but that’s the only texture I can handle. I hate kettle. I hate pretty much all flavors. I hate BBQ and any other chip that would leave weird orangeness on my fingertips (and I hated this as a kid too). At parties I can snack on some other flavors, but only out of desperation. Salt and pepper is okay, as is sour cream and onion and shockingly, salt and vinegar. But that’s about it. It’s weird that I love chips so much, love so very much, but only in a very limited way.
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