little

This blog is my inaugural rant. I get on a soap box at least once a day, but this time I happened to have my computer in front of me.

It seems that the latest obsession in, oh, I don't know- the WORLD- is miniature everything. Everywhere I go, I'm bombarded with the mini's. Mini nail polish that can't possibly paint all ten fingers and toes. Mini shopping carts that hold a 12 pack of coke and loaf of bread, but throw you for a loop when you try to buy paper towels and toilet paper- heaven forbid you need both. Mini hamburgers have been around for a while, but there's something delightful about the greasy little burger sandwiched between those steamed buns with pickles and mustard. It almost makes me happy about clogging my arteries and ensuring that, by thirty, I'll be harnessing myself to a treadmill every day. Yes, many things are miniature. I like some small things, like the burgers and... ok maybe it's just the burgers. Oh, and my friend once had mini sticks of butter- how fantastic! But that's where it ends.

Tonight, as I settled in to watch Good Eats on FoodNetwork, my beloved Granny asked me if I wanted anything from the kitchen while she was headed that way. "Sure, bring me a Dr. Pepper if you don't mind," I said. I heard her getting the ice from the ice maker, and heard her break the plastic rings that held the bottles together. As she handed them to me, I said, "Thanks!" My thanks was premature. I looked up to see the most obnoxious, annoying bottle I've ever seen. It was a 12 oz. bottle. Now, I know that this is the same size of a can, but when you are expecting a bottle, you expect 16 oz. I had already decided that I would only drink half of it to save myself the sodium and whatnot. That plan was shot to hell when I saw the menacing little bottle. But I drank it. In maybe 2.5 sips.

My animosity toward small sodas had been buliding since Granny began buying the miniature cans a few years back. This was her way of solving the "half-full leftover can" problem. The first time I saw those heinous little red cans, I wanted to turn and pretend they weren't there. That was 6 years ago, and now she's switched over to bottles.

Fast forward a few hours, and the midnight munchies hit me. I'd seen a couple of personal sized cheese pizzas in the freezer a few days ago so I figured I'd throw one in the oven and it'd hit the spot. When I opened the freezer, I saw that the pizzas were no more. I don't know where they went. Maybe the dog ate them. Except we don't have a dog. Maybe I imagined them. What sat in their place was bagle bites. Now, many of you may love the bite sized creations. I know I used to. But when I put the thing in my mouth, it nearly burnt the skin off my tongue and the roof of my mouth. In a panic, I grabbed another Dr. Pepper out of the fridge and drank the remaining half of it. I ran out before the fire was extinguished. I was reduced to gulping from a gallon of milk. Whole milk. Liquid lard.

I simmered for about an hour, hating everything small more than usual. Then I decided that I needed something sweet. That's when I found the straw that broke the camel's back. A mini snicker's bar. A. One. Mini. How infuriating is that? Hungry? Grab a Snicker's. But what about when they're bite sized! I felt like I was on Punk'd.

I understand miniature foods and drinks for miniature people, but, let's be real here. Grown ups, and by grown ups I mean me, need real sized food. Not teasers around every corner.

And don't even get me started on shampoo samples.