...just ask N, who came to me on Monday, on day 5 of Passover, and simply wailed, "I really, really, really need some Goldfish! I can't wait any more. I NEED Goldfish!"
(Anyone know of a good Goldfish-related 12-step program?)
For the record: I let him go into the off-limits-during-Passover closet and take some Goldfish. (Clearly, we fall waaaaay south of orthodox in our handling of the holiday.) "It's between you and God," I said. "You do what feels right for you; I do what feels right for me."
"God won't mind," he replied confidently. He considered that statement for a moment, then added, "But if he gets mad at me, I don't care."
Apparently someone wasn't listening during the recitation of the Ten Plagues. Because, when I was his age? I'd pretty much decided it wasn't worth testing the whole 'wrath of God' thing somewhere around locusts. Or maybe boils.
Those Goldfish must have some pretty powerful mojo.