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Have you ever tried to break into Fort Knox? Neither have I, but I imagine the process would be similar in difficulty to gaining access to some of my wife’s baked goods. My wife, Amy, makes homemade granola bars in …...

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Sicher ist sicher (mit Freistellungspfad)

Filed Under , , on October 25th, 2014

Good Stuff (it’s not beer)

By Seth Kabala

Have you ever tried to break into Fort Knox? Neither have I, but I imagine the process would be similar in difficulty to gaining access to some of my wife’s baked goods.

My wife, Amy, makes homemade granola bars in a variety of flavors, e.g., cinnamon raisin, chocolate chip, cranberry, and blueberry. Unlike your garden variety bars from the grocery store, which have such quality in their preparation that they induce gagging similar to that of a toddler forced to take medicine, these are apt to make you drool like a teenage boy who’s just cracked his first Playboy.

Aromas abound, filling the air with a cloud of olfactory nirvana. Drooling is to be expected–mandatory, even.

Some.

But at some point it should stop, lest the would-be eater desires to be mistaken for a head-trauma victim, or a Chicago Bears fan, one or the other. My wife claims she likes to keep a clean house, but in this regard she’s doing herself no favors with the military-grade wrapping job she’s pulled off. (Methinks–apparently, I’m an elitist today–the Trojan company may want to have a chat with my wife about acquiring the rights to her method, ’cause ain’t nothing gettin’ through that sheath, regardless of the might of the sword.)

Whenever I try to eat a bar, I have to set aside five minutes to navigate the labyrinth that is the plastic wrap, bound around and around so many times, I’m convinced she’s either training for a second career as an ancient Egyptian embalmer, or she’s anticipating the packaging requirements for long-term food storage in a post-nuclear war America. I suppose either pursuit has its merits, depending on the circumstances, but enough with this long-term strategic planning. When I wanna eat, I gotta eat.

Forget trying to open a bar while driving in the pre-dawn hours, a time of day in which I frequently find myself hurried, thus short of time to grab breakfast, thus enticed by the notion of a real fruit granola bar with real fruit extract to heighten the flavor. So I grab a bar and try unsuccessfully to juggle steering with my knees–all this while it’s still dark outside–while searching for the elusive seam that will unlock the wrapping codex, the load-bearing fold that will reveal the structure’s one weakness so that I may exploit it and enjoy the spoils of war. Alas, failure often finds me in my non-violent efforts to unwrap the bar, so I resort to fighting dirty.

My solution to this has been to employ the same method children use when opening presents. Never mind the care and thought that went into the wrap job, the quickest way to the good stuff is to go Tasmanian Devil on that box and shred, shred, shred! Usage of teeth is within the regs. Fellow commuters look at me with confused expressions, and I imagine their thoughts focus on a singular question: how the hell did a swarm of bees get into his car?

When something is worthwhile but professionally, albeit annoyingly, packaged, any lengths are worthy lengths to go to remove the covering and get to the center. To the good stuff.

And thus this column is revealed to be a metaphor for getting your wife naked.

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Seth Kabala

About: Seth Kabala
Seth is an entrepreneur, writer, musician, family man, and juggler of balls--big ones. He lives with his wife and three children in Portland, OR.

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