I'm Strong to the Finich Cause I Eats Me Spinach

What a way to wake up. The alarm went off and Frank groggily turned on “Meredith” like we do every morning. I vaguely remember hearing the words “warning” and “E Coli” but I was trying to get to the conclusion of my dream which involved sitting in a mansion and being served kolaches by gay guys in tuxedos. They were singing “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast. It was nice.

But just as my waiter was lifting up the silver lid of the tray to reveal my kolache, Frank said, “Hey, don’t we have bagged spinach?”

I groggily said, “Yes, I just bought two bags yesterday.” Mmmm….did these kolaches come from the Czech Stop? Oh, Weikels’ in La Grange…nice.

“Well they’re saying we can’t eat it,” Frank said.

Ah! No bagged baby spinach? I pushed the gay waiter out of way, dropped the kolaches and yelled, “Well turn it up!”

Then Ann Curry told me that all these people across the country were getting sick and the only thing they had in common was that they all ate bagged spinach. One person even died.

It would be hard to find someone who consumes as much bagged baby spinach as me. I put it on, in and around everything. Sometimes I even put it under things. Frank and I have this joke that fancy restaurants always add “and it’s served on a bed of wild rice” to entrée descriptions. So when I put bagged spinach under something (like an omelet), Frank says, “And it was served over a bed of wild baby spinach.”

And now Ann Curry is telling me I have to throw it out! I just bought two giant bags yesterday! And I’ve already opened one and made an enormous bagged baby spinach salad with it! So far so good. But I’m not taking any chances; I’m going to take one bag back to Kroger today and get my $2.50.

Yes, life will be different without my beloved bagged baby spinach. I like the kind with Popeye on the front. I’ll miss you, Popeye. I’ll miss you, bed of wild bagged baby spinach.

But with my $2.50 I can buy a few kolaches (minus the singing gay waiters).