I didn't bother to fetch my reading glasses. Neither did my sister. So we couldn't read the teeny-tiny text of the directions on the lid. In fact, we didn't bother to read any of the text on the lid, large or teeny-tiny. We didn't need to. After all, we were revisiting our childhood---we already knew how to do this.
"You pry this cardboard off all around the edges," said my sister. She began doing so. "No, wait, wait," I said, "won't it all pop out? You do it this way." I began bending the foil rim back. "No, no, don't do that," said my sister. "This is how you do it." "OK, yeah, maybe you're right," I said. We finished bending and prying. We then put the Pak over an open flame and began shaking it.
...they kept exploding as we rushed the Pak from the stove to the sink...
...they continued exploding all over the dirty dishes in the sink.
What little popcorn we could salvage tasted okay, I guess...but I don't think my sister and I remembered our childhood correctly. Or did we?
Oh My! Now that is a blast from the past! Jiffy Pop. It must have been well worth the explosion for the memories from childhood in your kitchen.
ReplyDeleteyou remembered perfectly, the problem is certainly in the fine print of the present.
ReplyDeleteI always wanted to try Jiffy Pop at home when I was a girl, but my mom did not indulge us. What I do remember is having it at my grandma's house...except it was always burned. Perhaps she did not follow the directions. Your sisterly experience made for a great story, Wendy.
ReplyDelete