Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has made four batches of her world famous Chex Mix over the past two weeks. This last time, on Sunday, we had enough left for three small tubs of our own. Let the record further show that on the second batch, there was enough for a tub to give Farmer H's boss, and one for him to keep for himself ("I don't never get none of it!") and half a tub for Mrs. HM.
Last night, as I was working my fingers to the bone wrapping gifts on the living room coffee table, Farmer H reared himself out of his La-Z-Boy and announced that he was going to have some Chex Mix.
"Make sure you get it out of your tub! You are not to touch the three from the latest batch until yours is gone. You're not going to pick through it!"
"But mine don't have no good stuff left in it!"
"EXACTLY! That's because you pick stuff out. Nobody wants your picked-over Cheerios and peanuts! You need to eat it as it is, and not pick out the best stuff first."
I really need to inspect that Chex Mix. I wouldn't be surprised if Farmer H poured a little good stuff on top of his remainders, and switched out the tubs. He's devious like that.