I admit it. There are moments when my health means even less to me than it normally does.

It starts with a glimpse of that red box on top of the fridge. I try to ignore it, because dinner is in an hour. But the little wheedling voice starts in.

At first I can't understand it. Too quiet. But after while it's those same words.

"That is your own box!"

I attack the box like a starved hyena (including the laughing) and power through half of it before I remember my own name.

My Guilty Pleasure of the Week? Cheez-Its

I. Love. Cheez-Its.

Love.

And you know, don't go f***ing it up with different little stupid extra flavors. They're already perfect. If you buy one of those other boxes, your a Cheathen and don't deserve to taste the goodness of the holy Cheez-It.

So go on, tell me what's in your own box.