Amy Lu's View

Chad’s quest to become a minister was almost thwarted by my chip eating habits. 

“WHAT are you doing?!” he recently asked as I was digging around in a chip bag trying to retrieve the smallest chip bits. 

He wasn’t exactly disapproving–just deeply confused. So confused that I could see his brain shutting down. He was freezing up in an automatic response caused not by fear, but bewilderment.

I knew this day would come. Over the many years of us sharing a life together, I’ve learned that Chad can regularly find something I say or do so perplexing that his entire being is consumed with trying to figure me out. While it’s scientifically proven that no one is good at multitasking, Chad takes this to a new level when he’s trying to figure out an Amy Mystery–he simply can’t do any other task. 

Chad happily ponders deep theological mysteries that are intellectually challenging, but he can’t fathom how I eat chips. Luckily, Chad was able to pull himself together before I had to report to his seminary that he couldn’t finish his Masters of Divinity because his brain had short-circuited because his wife was just too weird. 

My practice of purposefully seeking out chip particles to partake of is, admittedly, a little peculiar, so I guessed that it would be too much for Chad to process. I tried to protect him from this behavior and not engage in it in his presence, but sometimes, a gal needs her chip fix and can’t wait for privacy. 

You may also be wondering why I intentionally want to eat small pieces of broken chips, instead of chips that are fully intact. It’s a simple case of the “just a small bite” phenomenon taken to extremes. I started purposefully eating the bits of chips with the hope that I would eat less chips…and then I got to actually prefer them. I know it’s unlikely that I actually eat less chips by eating small pieces (perhaps I even eat more) but at least this tactic draws out the process and slows me down. It takes me longer not only to eat the chips, but to rummage in the bag for them. It’s become a little game, a little ritual, that makes chip eating even more enjoyable. I even enjoy the physical sensation of eating small chip pieces better, which is ineffable, because obviously they have the same texture and taste of whole chips, but they just feel different. Better. Special. 

I do have rules for my chip game. Or at least one rule: the broken chip pieces have to be naturally occurring–I’m not going to take whole chips and break or smash them. And I will go to some lengths to get the small pieces, which usually fall to the bottom of the bag. I’ve poured the contents of a bag on the counter to get at the small bits, and then put the whole chips back in the bag, and sometimes I even have two bags open at once so I can more easily separate the big and small pieces. (Luckily Chad didn’t see this level of chip consumption complexity or he might be catatonic). 

I did confirm with Chad that he wasn’t hoping for the chip bits for himself–he definitely prefers the bigger pieces of chips. So we agreed we had our own version of “Jack Sprat” going on.  

Isn’t our complementary chip consumption a cool little example of how we fit together, and how Chamy works?

It’s almost an example of how I have great power over Chad, so let’s hope I never choose to misuse my ability to confound him.