Cranberry Babies

I have a slight addiction and another slight problem that rears its’ ugly head after I partake of said addiction.

I love dried cherries and cranberries. Not necessarily at the same time. The problem I have is that I can’t just stop at a handful. I will literally eat the whole bag.

What happens a few hours later is not so pretty.

The cramps appear and I’m not just talking about your typical every day, run of the mill, cramps. I’m talking about severe labor pains. Pains so severe that I swear I need to drive to the hospital to see how far I’ve dilated. Then I start naming the yet-to-be born cranberry babies. Depending on how much I’ve eaten, I might be the next Octomom, minus the career in porn (thank God).

Then I start thinking that I’m going to be one of those salad shooters, except it won’t be salad. It’ll be dried fruit. I’ll have my own infomercial (As Seen on TV), and Lord, it won’t be pretty. Hazmat and OSHA will have to be contacted. People will actually have to take cover, thinking that the apocalypse has arrived.  The sounds of rapid-fire gunshot will echo for hours and cranberries will ricochet from the walls.

You’d think that I’d learn my lesson, but nope. Put a bag of those dried goodies within my reach and the process starts all over again.

Have mercy on me.

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