PCs. No, the Other Kind.

I picked up a bag of potato chips the other day. I love potato chips, particularly (I know this will sound weird) stale ones - they remind me of the PCs my grandmother would get, in these huge boxes. She'd stash them on the top shelf of her walk-in pantry, like that would keep me from finding them. I like PCs so much that I don't buy them, because I will inhale them, cram them in, gobble them up. Oh, I'll start in the demure, adult method, taking a single chip, possibly two, but by the fourth minute, I'm taking handsful. I will even seal the bag up and push it aside, but that just means I have to reach for it when my absent-minding groping around fails to find the bag. Where the hell -- oh, there it is.

So sometimes I will compromise by getting a small bag. Not small small, you understand, just not gihugic, which is how the local people like to sell their stuff. National brands too, of course. The compromise usually works, though when I come to the end of the bag, licking the little crumbs from my fingers, it doesn't sound so smart to me.

Last week, I bought a bag from the organic aisle of the store. They do tend to taste better (I could be kidding myself: For that price, they damned well BETTER taste better!). Since I like sea salt and vinegar ones, which major brands tend to overdo, I picked up a brand I'd not gotten before. It was pretty good. The bag said 'see our site', so I thought I would. It was the usual 'made with care, by hand, using only old-fashioned methods in vats stirred by albino gypsies'. Then I happened to look at another page, and another one, both of which said that the brand was actually made in Canada. Well, good: I have a really good impression of Canada. But - what's this? Say it ain't so.

Miss Vickie's Potato Chips is owned by Frito-Lay? Those makers of bland chips own this?

Argh.