Poptarts.
They’re quite the mystical magical object of my attention! I mean, think about it. You take them out of the pantry, unwrap the shiny packaging, and then you pop them in the toaster (or microwave if your toaster is on the fritz and hates your freaking soul.) But, anyway, Poptarts! You never really think much about them. You buy them, you put them away, you get them out, slowly diminishing your supply of those marvelous pastry things, cook them (sometimes, not always), and then you eat them. And then it’s on about your day.
But think about it. Poptarts. The word just rings! Try to say it without smiling – if you can, you’re definitely a total grouch. And then there’s even more to think about as your chewing on that lovely word (literal or not. Well, if taken literally I’d mean the actually object, not the word. If you’re chewing on an actual word… well, you probably don’t get a lot of long, in depth conversations in because people are always afraid that you’re going to start eating them just as you eat your words.)
But anyway, as you’re chewing on the word of Poptart itself, think about it. Somebody made those poptarts! Eh, let’s say it wasn’t a machine – even though the thought of that is simply fascinating as well – what if each poptart was made individually by an actual person? How do they get the filling in there?! Okay, they probably poke holes in the sides around the top part because, well, why else would there be those little indent things – but still. Let’s pretend we don’t know that. Let’s just let everything be what if and why and how.
It’s much more mystical magical that way.
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