I don’t know if it’s because I spent most of my life in Pennsylvania (home to some of the greatest snack foods), but I love a good pretzel.  The crunch, the salt, ease of eating (no greasy fingers like you get with potato chips) – a good pretzel is a thing of snacking beauty. In our travels we have been disappointed again and again with sad pretzel choices when we check out the snack aisles. The struggle has been real.

UntitledImagine our delight when we found a pretzel (a store brand, no less) that had just the right crunch and the perfect amount of salt here in Texas at the H-E-B (which, for you non-Texans is a large (beloved)Texas supermarket chain) in Waco.

Now I’m not sure what the official demographic of this chain is, but I do know there are none in this part of Texas, and there will be none in my future until this time next year. We were down to our last bag, so when I knew the kids were coming up from Waco last weekend I sent Abigail this text:
Since we’re really watching what we’re eating these days, I figured we could make a couple of bags last a good long while.
However, Gary thought a little reminder (and expansion) was in order and sent this text to Josiah (unbeknown by me).

And Josiah, being the good obedient son that he is, followed his instructions to the letter.
Can’t imagine what the check-out clerk was thinking as she rang up the order, but I’m pretty sure we’ll not be hunting up pretzels any time soon!

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