I am really unsure about how I feel about raisins. I like them, but if I never ate one again, I would not be upset. Things like chocolate, I would die if I was told I could never eat it again. That is why I am scared of becoming allergic to things. I am currently not allergic to anything. I would die if I was allergic to cats, chocolate, and grapes. I say grapes mostly because I am obsessed with wine, not because I need raisins in my life. Ok, so that is a little confusing, so I will summarize this paragraph. I do not need to eat raisins ever again but I would die if I was allergic to grapes because I am an active wine drinker.
I do not drink real deal wine, just Franzia Refreshing White. So refreshing. So white. So cheap. Such lovely feelings.
Cookies with raisins are such a disappointment if you are unsure if its a chocolate chip or a raisin. It is sad to be a raisin because the chocolate chip always wins. On a cookie. In trail mix. Always gone before the lonely less popular raisin. At least cinnamon friended the raisin to make it not completely hated. If you were to think of them as people: Chocolate chips would belong to the cool club. Cinnamon would be the class president that likes everyone that helped raisins, the struggling loser trying to fit in, become apart of the social yet not completely cool club. For example, raisins would be the girl that although she is not the most attractive, she has a pretty good personality so you still give her a chance. Just like she would push her personality for acceptance, raisins push being healthy to get people to choose them over the chip.
In conclusion, raisins are weird. I once came across the tiniest grape that nature could produce. So cute and tiny to the point where I could not eat him. So cute that he became a him instead of an it. So cute that I named him Melvin. So Melvin became a household wonder. We adopted him when we first moved to my current house and it is there that he still resides. He has aged into a lovely raisin and we plan on daring someone to eat him. But, at the same time, he has grown on me and I do not want to see him eaten.
4 comments:
melvin has not moved sinced we moved in, and i love him for it
i'm pretty sure we named him wilson, not melvin
believe me, its melvin.
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