She has me hooked on pre-popped popcorn. Gone is the need to microwave theater-style kernels, pre-seasoned with enough imitation "butter" as to clog all of my arteries instantly. Instead, I'm eating some kind of "smart" corn, apparently meaning that I am super-smart to be eating it.
Then, and this is where my daughter's influence really comes in, I top the pre-popped popcorn with a butter-like spray and nuke it for about fifteen seconds. "Salt it lightly," she tells me.
Oh, please. This is her mother she's talking to. I upend that bad-boy salt shaker and give myself instant arteriosclerosis. After polishing off one bowl like this, I make a second bowl because ... well ... it's addicting.
I blame my daughter. She is a bad influence on me.
