Santitas Lady, I Love You

It’s time for another bare all exposé from the desk of the Redneck Granola. For many years now I have maintained a fantasy relationship with the Santitas Chip Lady. In Biblical times a tan may have been considered a sign of low status, reflecting hours of menial labor beneath the scorching hot rays of the sun.

But in my world, a beautiful tan reflects hours of menial labor beneath the scorching hot rays of the sun. And I find that scorching hot. Don’t tell me Miss Santitas got her tan from hours of reading People Magazine in a tanning bed. I don’t wish to sully my fantasy with such disgusting ruminations.

Besides, I know better. Maria Santita (as I like to call her) knows more about harvesting corn than today’s agricultural supercomputers. From the smell of a corn field or the brush of a gentle harvest breeze against her ocher skin she can tell when it’s time to harvest. She sings a siren song beckoning earworms to a death more desirous than most noble men’s lives.

She didn’t just show up for a logo shoot, don a peasant blouse from the prop room and phone in her ever-so-accessible smile. No. She picked the corn in her basket, fresh with the morning dew from a field so lush and tall it tickles God’s toes at the throne of heaven. She can work the entire day through without pitting-out her divinely white blouse, and still have enough magic left to grind the corn with a wink of her eye and bake fresh tortillas in the warmth of her bosom.

Have I been improper? Uncouth? If so, I apologize. But the simple truth remains. Maria, your chips are my command.

I know I’m not the only one who has harbored a logo crush. You can click here to contribute to a poll on the most beautiful person in food. The leader so far? The Morton Salt Girl. That slicker’s a little north of the knee don’t you think? Oh to be from a simpler era. Comment and let the Green Porch know about your logo crushes. We’re all friends here.