I hate plastic packing peanuts. I only received one box full of the loathsome things in early December, but it was more than plenty.

The debacle started innocently enough (as all debacles do) … a simple click of a computer mouse. At that moment, I could barely contain my elation. I had ordered a present that I knew the hubster would love.

Within a few days, the UPS guy dropped a fat brown package on my doorstep. Armed with scissors and a grin, I swooped it up and set out to open it on the kitchen floor. My dogs sniffed at it suspiciously, which should have been my first clue … but sometimes their Momma is a bit dense, and doesn’t pick up on things as fast as they do.

I lifted the first flap and saw the box filled to the brim with white packing peanuts. My face contorted in horror, and I felt sure I was on the verge of a seizure. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings, but at that moment anybody could have guessed that I had (and would continue to harbor) deep animosity for the packing peanut perpetrator.

I stared into the abyss of white with my dogs. The only way to get what I wanted out of that box was to swim my way down to the bottom to retrieve it. I dove in and sifted through the pestiferous peanuts until I found the prize.

I carried the gift upstairs to its hiding place and returned to what looked like a packing peanut war zone. My dogs had pulled the cardboard box apart and were romping around in the peanuts like it was a new snowfall. Itty-bitty beads of plastic clung to their coats while they cavorted.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Deep breath in … deep breath out. Deep breath in … deep breath out. Remain calm,” I said, while experiencing a true Calgon-take-me-away moment.

When I was sufficiently serene, I fished some plastic peanuts from the dogs’ mouths, shooed them outside, and resolved to clean up the mess.

“Let the games begin,” I declared, knowing full well the packing peanuts had malicious little minds of their own, and any attempt to remove them would be hellish. “I will prevail.”

An hour later, I had the majority of the kitchen cleaned up, but miniscule particles of the peanuts were stuck on the outside of the vacuum, on the dogs, on the broom, on my hands, on my clothes and in my hair. It wasn’t much of a victory.

Without going into any further diatribe, may I simply state I abhor, despise, detest and loathe packing peanuts. Honestly, I’d rather someone use marshmallows to pack the items they were shipping to me … at least I’d have use for the marshmallows. Flutternutter, anyone?

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