Triscuits.

There, I said it.

Every once in a while, I just really want to eat some, but I know it's not a good idea. Then, I start thinking about their dry, crispy, salty goodness, and I die a little until I break down and buy a box.

Then, I eat them and feel sick and don't eat the rest of the box.

I think it may be because I was allergic to wheat when I was little and I watched my Mom eat them and they looked so good, but I couldn't have any.

Now, I'm not allergic to wheat, but there's something about Triscuits that still calls to me.

It's probably the promise of a stomachache. This could be the reason I occasionally drink four glasses of wine or eat a whole order of fries by myself. Apparently, I really enjoy feeling like crap ever so often.

At any rate, I woke up this morning feeling that old Triscuity feeling again.

I have been elected to buy cheese and crackers for something, so I think I'll buy some for that and then other people can join in on the magic. I think it may be the magic of them that appeals to me because, as Rumpelstiltskin says on "Once Upon a Time" (yeah, I watch it...don't hate), "Magic always comes with a price."

And the price of that salty wheat is a terrible stomachache.

I think I can take it. It can't be that bad, right?

Naw. Can't be. Or I wouldn't want to eat them again. It's been at least a year. Maybe I imagined the whole stomach thing. Maybe they don't bother me at all, and this time I'll be able to eat the whole box.

Not in one sitting, though. I'm not that cuckoo.

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