Why I Hate Dunk ‘Ems

I consider myself able to handle stress well.  People who know me just coughed “Bullshit” under their breath.  So let me rephrase that to: the more dire the situation, the better I handle the stress.  Less dire = more stress.  It’s an inverse relationship for all you math fans.

For instance, while I work on set with a crew and money flying out the window and time running out in the day, I may look like this:

But I feel like this:

I haven’t been able to master my set face.  That doesn’t phase me.  I’m just concentrating on the task at hand.  If there is a dying baby and the only way to make it to the hospital in time is by running, well, dammit, I’m your man.  The more adrenaline and stress, the better I process thoughts and action.

Now, on the flipside (ie. selecting a restaurant among friends), I’m useless.  I couldn’t tell you what I want to eat.  Don’t get me wrong, I love food… I just love too many kinds of food.  Except Dunk ‘Ems.  Dunk ‘Ems are my new kryptonite.

I recently picked up a box of Oreo Dunk ‘Ems thinking, “Hey this will be an awesome snack and perfect for a picnic, too.  I am going to woo the shit out of some lucky girl.” Wrong choice. When it comes to eating foods like Dunk Em’s where there is a snack pack of crackers and a dipping sauce-thing, I find myself completely debilitated.  I instantly question whether that pool of dipping sauce will be enough for me to enjoy the full flavor of each of my Oreo crackers, or will I be dry and bland by the last cracker by using too much too soon?  No one wants to eat just Oreo crackers; they’re gross (and if you do, you’re gross, get help).  OR if I’m conservative, will all of my crackers be bland except for the last one, which is overloaded with dipping?  Extra Oreo cream sounds amazing, but in this case it’s not the same as you get in real Oreos: this one is gross in large quantities.  I can’t win.

As a distance runner, pace is very important to me.  And with Dunk ‘Ems I can’t pace worth a damn, so the fun child’s snack turns into a torturous hell in which I can’t eat a cracker until I’ve determined that each cracker will get the same amount of cream.  It’s not like I’m scientific about it; I just take care in my selections.   Meanwhile children skip by eating theirs however they please, just the cracker, just the dipping, they don’t care– having a gay old time.  I haven’t even gotten the first cracker in my mouth yet because I’m too busy cursing those careless bastards.  I can’t handle that kind of pressure, with deliciousosity in the balance of my dipping technique I can’t just throw caution into the wind and hope that each cracker is delicious as the last.  I need empirical proof that each with be just as tasty.  So I bought a pack of real Oreos.  Fuck Dunk ‘Ems.