Remember That Time When Manda Lost Her Damn Mind?

We aren't apex predators roaming the Serengeti searching for springbok and wildebeest to kill and eat. These days, we just go to Target.

Today, The Suz and I were able to isolate and bring home the elusive cherry Pop-Tart and the even rarer Parmesan Goldfish cracker.

It was good hunt.

Our checkout operator kept a running narrative on the contents of my cart. In addition to Pop-Tarts and Frosted Flakes, I also had the season 5 DVD of Dexter, which she deemed too scary.

I also had some items for my classroom, since it's that time of year again. Nothing big, just some construction paper and a few packs of markers. "You must be trying for mom of the year," she said to me.

"I don't have kids," I said. "I teach high school."

The Suz was duly impressed with me for not leaping over the counter and kicking this woman in the face. But given the overall contents of my cart, what with the school supplies and the fact that I eat like a five-year-old when left to my own devices, it was probably not an unreasonable conclusion on the checker's part.

I've got Pop-Tarts, Goldfish crackers, Crayola markers, Dexter DVDs, and a big bag of Swedish Fish. I'm lucky I didn't end up with my name in a file somewhere.

I don't usually buy Swedish Fish, because I have no self control around chewy candy, and Swedish Fish may lead me to a marginally psychotic episode.

For example, I used to advise the school yearbook. To provide some perspective on the magnitude of this project, let me just say that I followed my stint as yearbook advisor with two years of graduate school, during which time I carried a full course load and worked two jobs. The grad school years were still easier than the yearbook job.

Because advising the yearbook caused me to routinely work fourteen to sixteen hour days, my nutritional needs suffered. For a substantial chunk of the 2005-2006 school year, my body was held together by a sludge made of Coca Cola and Swedish Fish. This is not an exaggeration, and I am still surprised that I didn't develop scurvy.

Near the end of one particularly grueling deadline, I was working my way through yet another bag of Swedish Fish when I discovered one fish that was perfectly shaped and imprinted. This fish was too perfect to eat, so I taped him to a piece of copier paper and named him Bjorn, he was the quiet one.

Before the deadline was complete, Bjorn was joined by Ingmar (the funny one), Leif (the smart one), Leif's son, Erik with a K (the mischevious one), and Maurice (the charming one).

Nobody on the yearbook staff thought this was weird. If my students during the day thought it was weird, they didn't say so-- but now that I think about it, they did avoid any sudden movements or eye contact.

In my own defense, I didn't talk to the fish or anything. And I ate most of their friends.

But I think the part where I was keeping pet Swedish Fish played a large role in The Suz's threat to me at the end of the school year to quit advising the yearbook or get another roommate.

So I don't advise the yearbook anymore. But I still like to eat chewy candy during the rare moments of downtime at work, and I tend to have marginally better self control with a bag of Swedish Fish than I do with a bag of Starburst.