Fried potatoes

Dear D.S.,

Thank you for contacting me back in April on As you can see, I still have yet to open and read your e-mail. If you think I haven’t gotten around to it because I’m super busy, you’re mistaken. I am blatantly ignoring it because I still resent your actions that day back at the town pool when we were eleven and your grandma gave you two bags of potato chips to take with you for snacks and (in front of me, I might add) told you that one bag was for you and the other for me because it was my guest pass you were using to get into the pool in the first place and the least you could do to thank me was hand over a measly bag of chips. But, no. You did not. You opened one bag, let me have a small handful, and then kept the other for yourself.

And if you think I’m making this up, I’m not. Just ask my mom. She remembers that day, too.

It’s not nice to bogart the chips, D.S. Let this be a lesson to you.

Open Wide

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