so the other day I bought a Little Debbie snack cake and in my head I referred to it as a "Little Debbie Human Treat" because clearly, this job is affecting my perception of everything in life.

Little thing, little idealized object parading around as food when, in fact, you are cleverly arranged molecules. You are the Japanese hamburg eraser. You look tasty enough to eat, but you are an imposter.

Then I thought about Dad and how much he enjoyed the various creme rolls and donut sticks, how often he came home with those slim rectangular boxes, similar to cigarette cartons but containing something so much sweeter (except for that time Camel had the mandarin or dark mint chocolate flavored smokes--but those came in tins--and never again) and I wondered if he dug those sweet snack cakes so much because he still loved my mother. (her name is Deb)

Anyway: damn, that thing was delicious.