Letter Number One-Hundred Eighteen.

Dear Freeze-Dried Foods,

I have been fascinated with you ever since my first trip to the planetarium, where they had astronaut neapolitan ice cream. It didn't matter that you tasted like skin flakes off a dirty table. What mattered was I knew that, at some point, you had been real ice cream. That was good enough.

Now, as I plan a camping trip, I look at three-cheese omelettes and wonder if it will bring me the same satisfaction to know that those eggs where once a real omelette. I mean, you can basically tell the ice cream was made while still in uneaten ice cream form, but these omelettes could very well have been scrapings left on someone's plate at Denny's.

Actually, you know, that's fine.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Because maybe there will be a couple pieces of hasbrowns that accidentally fell in...mmm...