I am not one to indulge in paranoia, but the other day I noticed everyone and everything is out to get me. And by "everyone and everything," I mean "my yogurt".
I love yogurt, see. I love it with the kind of roiling passion that can only exist between a woman and a yogurt, especially if that yogurt is equipped with sufficient fruit on the bottom. This is why I almost didn't notice when, recently, my yogurt began besieging me with bone-crunching guilt.
"In the time it takes to eat this yogurt," it informs me, every morning over the Cracklin' Oat Bran*, "ten acres of U.S. farmland will be lost to development." I assume this is intended to have a deeply sobering effect.
"This has a deeply sobering effect," I say to myself. And then I eat the yogurt. Such times call for stern measures.
But before long this kind of thing starts to gnaw at you. How many times can you hear about U.S. farmland before you remark to your yogurt, aloud, that if it loves U.S. farmland so much maybe it should marry it, then you weep brokenly, throw things, and finally drown your pain in ten more cups of yogurt? Then, if you take the number of acres of U.S. farmland you have destroyed during this time, double it, and divide by the reciprocal of "sigma," how long was Warren G. Harding president?**
That's not even the worst part. The worst part is, to perpetuate this vile shame-mongering, they use: the lid. I can barely stand to talk about this part. I have always looked upon yogurt lids with great affection, for two reasons:
1. They serve as the gateway to yogurt.
2. Underneath them there is usually yogurt.
Yes, there was a time when yogurt lids were pure sweetness and light. Back in the good ole days, their only alternative functions were as game pieces in the occasional sweepstakes, wherein you (yes, you) could win fun but trivial prizes such as free groceries, a Sony Walkman, the state of Montana***, etc. Every once in a blue moon, a lid might alert the consumer to an Important Nutritional Development in the yogurt field, such as "NOW WITH 15% LESS BICHON FRISÉ".
Those days are gone.
So what you need to do, if you consider yourself an American, is fire off an angry letter to the yogurt industry. How you choose to compose your letter is entirely up to you, except that it must be written in 16-point "Braggadoccio" font****, and, ideally, it should go like this:
"LISTEN UP, ACTIVE-CULTURE BREATH," it should begin. "HAS ALL THE STRAWBERRY/BANANA GUNGED UP YOUR FRONTAL LOBES OR WHAT? WE FAITHFUL YOGURT CONSUMERS (ESPECIALLY OF "CHOCOLATE UNDERGROUND") WILL NO LONGER TOLERATE YOUR BLATANT ATTEMPTS AT MANIPULATION VIA GUILT, AND FURTHERMORE WE INTEND TO BOYCOTT ALL YOUR PRODUCTS, ESPECIALLY "LOTSA LEMON," WHICH FRANKLY HAS NO MORE LEMON IN IT THAN ANY OF ITS LOWER-PRICED COMPETITORS, THOUGH ADMITTEDLY WE DIDN'T TAKE THE TROUBLE TO DO ANY LEGITIMATE RESEARCH, SEEING AS WE WERE WATCHING "HOGAN'S HEROES: THE COMPLETE SECOND SEASON" AT THE TIME! GOOD DAY!!! SINCERELY, OUTRAGED CUSTOMER. P.S. OHMYGOD OHMYGOD I'MSORRYI'MSORRYI'MSORRY PLEEASE DON'T BE MAD AT ME I LOVE YOUR PRODUCTS ESPECIALLY "LOTSA LEMON" THEY GIVE ME A REASON TO CONTINUE LIVING A-HUH-HUH-HUHHHHH."
A well-worded threat has the power to bring any bureaucracy to its knees.
After that, I'll admit, it's a waiting-game. It reminds me of sitting in the pediatrician's waiting room when I was little, or being on hold for Customer Assistance. Only, I don't have to play with diseased Power Rangers or listen to The Captain and Tennille.
But we are by no means powerless in the face of totalitarian yogurtdom. This morning, for instance, I took double the usual time to eat my yogurt, so chances are I took care of a good 20 acres right there. Let it never be said that I am not a go-getter.
*Daily Cracklin' Value: 70%.
***Cash Value: $73.18.
****It looks really impressive. LIKE THIS. EXCEPT, YOU KNOW, MORE IMPRESSIVE.
©2007, Nicola McEldowney/The Snark Ascending