Dear Single Bag Of Oreos,
You are most welcome here! Amidst a shimmering, gelatinous sea of casseroles and Jello, you are a glorious beacon of preservatives and GMOs. You are also a symbol of hope and freedom, reminding all that attendance at a church potluck is not dependent on one’s ability to cook or one’s adherence to social conventions. You, the bag of ice, and the Fritos loudly declare that this is a safe place where judgment does not exist.
Make no mistake: we could judge you. It is no secret that you were brought by the single guy who has brought Oreos and/or soda to every church function for the last ten years. He thinks no one noticed as he discreetly placed you on the dessert table amidst the heaping mounds of brownies and apple pies. And he’s right: no one did notice. But that matters not. Everyone knows the source of the Oreos, despite his intimations that he brought an elegant chocolate silk pie. Nobody buys into his deception.
Yet despite his failed deception, you will be gone by the end of the potluck. Why? Because you, my friend, are like crack. One hit and we are hopelessly addicted. We will stuff you into our mouths until we look like bloated squirrels. Children will stuff you into their pockets and then eat you later under their covers.
Additionally, you simply do not go bad. By the end of the potluck, the egg salad will look like something the dog will return to and the fried chicken will be a disastrous pile of E.Coli. And yet you remain, a Rock of Gibraltar, a shelter amidst the storm.
So we welcome you, bag of Oreos. We embrace you and the sweet bliss and numbness you provide. Others may fail – you stand forever.