It's not what's for dinner

I'm still trying to fathom why anyone would eat a Tide detergent pod, regardless of the challenge or even the flavor. (Spring Meadow Some Velvet Morning Phaedra Is My Name or whatever is not without its appeal, I'll grant you that.) I mean, I know it's the age of Xtreme!™ everything, but still ... detergent ... in a pod.

The most wild 'n' crazy challenges involving (in)digestibles I accepted in childhood were as follows:

• In the late '60s, a cousin dared me (or I offered all on my own, I don't remember exactly) to eat dirt. True to my word, I did. It was ... grainy. A little sandy. Kinda earthy, you might say.

• Sometime in the early '70s, my sister and I dared each other to try a dry nugget of Gravy Train, our dog's preferred dinner. It was ... rusty. A little crunchy. Kinda canine, you might say.

That's it, kids. And guess what? I'm still going strong at 56, despite a little arthritis in my hands and a certain fondness for sugary snacks.

Meanwhile, if you drop a pod of Tide, you'll be lucky if you survive until 16, physically or mentally.

It's your life, of course, and I, a Friend of Little Debbie, would be presumptuous if I were to tell you what to eat, gluten-free, vegan, or phosphate-feeble. Science, medicine, government, and the media--well, they say no! don't do it! you could kill yourself! But, hey, it's your Sophie's challenge.

Just know that if you do decide to taste the Tide pod rainbow, you'll be doing us all a big favor--one less stupid person to have to look after into Social Security, let alone the SATs. Our tax dollars not at work if you cark it. Hallelujah anyway.

But then again, if you go forth with tipping the Tide velvet and end up just brain-damaged, our insurance rates will go up, and we'll hate you with the fierceness of a thousand bottles of Sunlight dishwashing detergent. So, rather you don't eat the Tide, please.

Cheers, thanks a lot.