Sunday night came, as it always does. I was packing my son's lunch before I went to bed something I always do. Not because I'm organized. Rather because I'm like a zombie in the morning. It's in everyone's best interest, trust me. I ripped open the box of fudge rounds and grabbed two. One for my son, one for me; I call it quality control.
Two bites. That's how many bites it took me to finish my beloved fudge round. Now before you judge me and just assume I'm a gluttonous fat ass, peep the size of this snack cake.
Let me put it into perspective for you. You can't truly appreciate the gravity of this situation until you feel my pain.
What kind of cruel joke is this? The box didn't say these were bite sized. When did Debbie downsize the snacks? I'm still pissed off. I had to eat two of them to equal one "normal" sized Fudge Round. Now I feel some type of way.
Little Debbie, you will always be the bitch I love to hate and hate to love.