Filthy Tart

Reading about Sparklestone trying to overcome his phobia of bananas has reminded me of something you all may find useful.

For a good long while I could not eat pop-tarts. It didn’t matter what flavor or what frosting they had, they just grossed me out. The trouble was just a little trauma suffered around the time I was 8 or 9.

I came home from school one day early, so I was home alone. Pop-tarts were like candy, which meant we couldn’t have them whenever we wanted. It had to be for breakfast. Being home alone, I figure I could choke a couple down before anyone showed up to witness it. So I pulled out a package, tore open the sealed bag, and this little black ant ran onto my hand.

I wasn’t sure if the ant was on the outside of the package, or just the box, or what. You see, there was a period of a few years when our house had an infestation of little carpenter ants. They’d show up in this incredible two lane highway running from one end of the kitchen to some unsealed container on the other end of the kitchen. To an eight year old, it was actually very cool.

I figured the toaster would be hot enough to kill any germs if the ant had actually been on the pop-tart, so I threw it in and started looking for a happy trail of ants. I couldn’t find one, not a single ant anywhere. That little guy must have been a solo scout.

Anyhow, my Pop-Tarts finished cooking. I let them cool a bit, and then I took a giant bite out of the end of this Pop-Tart, and wouldn’t ya know that those damn ants had carried away every drop of gooey filling. All that was left was the crispy ashes of about a million carpenter ants that fell out onto the counter as I tipped the Pop-Tart upside down.

Those bastards ate my Pop-Tart, but the real kicker was that I wasn’t suppose to be eating the Pop-Tart. Hence, I was unable to warn anyone the next morning...