I love you, Pop Tarts

Pop Tarts make me smile. For me, the toaster oven in my apartment exists only to warm my crispy, sweet pastries. I don't use a spatula to buffer my relationship to my Pop Tart; I coax it from the still-red toaster oven like a mother holding her newborn for the first time. I gently pass the rectangular treat from hand to hand so the darkened corners of the pastry don't burn my fingers.

And then there's the first bite. My front teeth pierce three layers of euphoria: sugary white frosting, puffy warm pastry, and the gooey fruity filling. My mouth combines the three striated layers, and I french kiss the grooves of my molars filled with a fruit-frosting-pastry symphony.

Some of my skeptical friends criticize my choice to consume Pop Tarts regularly. “Those are for little kids!” “Those are so bad for you.” “You're an adult; why don't you just cook food for yourself?” Excuse me, did I hear you right? Make my own Pop Tarts? That's like asking someone to make a Unicorn.

For me, Pop Tarts are perfection. Pop Tarts are the well-rounded toaster treat. The frosting isn't overly gooey. They don't need to be refrigerated. Sure, there are other cheaper, more delicious, or better-for-you pastries. But Pop Tarts and I are in it for the long haul. Pop Tarts and I have an equal relationship: they taste great, and I return the favor by eating them.

I love you, Pop Tarts.