In the past, I've held the belief that premium items aren't worth the extra price you pay for them. Boy was I wrong. The other night I had invited a hot date over to my apartment, and I wanted to cook her something special for dinner. So I splurged and got us a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Deluxe instead of the regular kind.

OK, I was lying. My date wasn't hot, and it wasn't my apartment. But that's irrelevant.

As I boiled the macaroni, I could see the difference. The noodles didn't stick to the pot as easily, and when I poured the noodles out of the strainer they didn't leave as much of a greasy streak. The cheese sauce was in a packet pre-mixed, saving me the arduous process of mixing the cheese powder with 1/4 cup milk and 1/4 stick of butter. How thoughtful!

But I soon realized that the cheese sauce was not pre-made merely to save time, but also to insure that the sauce met the perfect specifications for cheesy goodness. The aroma was tantalizing; my mouth was watering as I mixed the noodles and cheese together and brought our bowls out to the table with the French Chablis I had bought for the occassion. (A dry white wine goes well with pasta.) When I finally had a bite, my mouth was filled with cheese and noodle sensations I had never dreamed of. It brought a single tear to my eye as it slid slowly down my throat.

My date wasn't as appreciative, though. She kept complaining that it tasted funny, and kept insisting that real macaroni and cheese was made with "real cheese." But her complaints were understandable, considering I had laced her food with Rophynol.

From that night forward, I was forever changed. Who could have imagined that a couple extra bucks could make such a profound difference for a simple bowl of mac n' cheese? I couldn't go back to the way things were after experiencing that next level in Kraft-manship. So I scraped up the extra cash I needed for my greatly-increased food budget by recycling those empty Mad Dog bottles, cutting back on luxury items like Q-tips and condoms, and saving up lint to make into homemade paper. But it was worth the sacrifice. That frugality has kicked my quality of life up more than a couple notches.

So in conclusion, paper made out of lint is really, really lousy. Thank you for your time.

 I wish Kraft wouldn't "get my noodle going."