See those? They’re evil.

Oh, sure, they look innocent enough. Their makers would have you believe they’re downright good for you, too. They tout the fact that Sunchips are baked, not fried, so they contain less fat. And there, at the top of the bag is a bright red label promising 18 times more fiber than potato chips. Which is to say they contain all of 2 grams.

But that’s not the part that irritates me most of all.

I’m mad because, once someone opens a bag of Sunchips in my house, I can’t stop eating them. I try. I really do. I put the bag away in a hard-to-reach cupboard and tell myself to forget all about them. But they call to me in wavy golden voices. “Eat me!” they beg. So I do. And once I start, I just can’t stop.

They’re addictive, I swear it. I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised to find there’s some kind of “secret ingredient” in Sunchips that will send my body into all sorts of withdrawal convulsions just as soon as I go a full week without polishing off a bag all by myself. Not that I’ve made it that long yet. For some reason my husband insists on buying them every time he goes to the store.

“But you LIKE them!” he’ll exclaim when I grumble about how he brought these rectangular harbingers of dietary temptation back into our house.

“Yes, I do,” I tell him. “Too much. That’s the problem.”

Being an effortlessly thin man despite his half-gallon a day ice cream habit, he just doesn’t get it. Not in the least bit. And so he continues bringing home Sunchips as a sign of affection. And, even though I know they’re bad for me, I keep eating them because, well, they’re there and I just can’t say ‘no’ as far as they’re concerned.

Someday, I may be the world’s only woman to check herself into drug rehab to recover from her Sunchip addiction.

“Hello, I’m Chubby Mommy and I’m addicted to Sunchips,” I’ll say. And all of the hard-core drug and booze addicts around me will pause, take a deep breath and nod before welcoming me into the fold.