*** I originally shared this and wrote this for a Facebook group I belong to and boy the comments were all over the map. The comments were worth it all.

I had a deep, unshakable craving for popcorn drenched in butter. You know, the kind of craving that says, “Your arteries might not make it, but your taste buds are about to have the time of their lives.” It’s a very post-high-snack energy, a cornerstone of my personal food pyramid.

This is my go to snack from my post medication high (the legal kind of drugs mind you that your doctor prescribed you)

And then I learned something that changed my world forever: my local movie theater delivers. That’s right. The movie theater—the holy grail of overpriced, overly salted junk food—will now bring popcorn directly to my couch. No pants required.

Now, as someone who was vibing hard off a nice dose this medication that shall not be named –  I wasn’t exactly in the driving-to-get-snacks kind of mood.

Enter DoorDash, my knight in greasy armor.

I placed the order, giddy at the thought of warm, buttery popcorn arriving at my door. (And by “giddy,” I mean I was ready to propose to whoever delivered it.)

So, the popcorn finally arrives, warm and fresh. I tear open the bag like it owes me money, but… something seems off. Where’s the butter? Did they skimp? Is this a dry popcorn scam?

But wait! Nestled at the bottom of the bag are tiny containers of what appears to be clarified butter. I could hear angels singing. With the precision of a popcorn sommelier, I poured those little bad boys all over my popcorn, shook the bag like I was auditioning for a cocktail bar, and prepared to dig in like a feral raccoon.

Then I saw it. The ingredient list.

“Soybean oil. Natural butter flavor. Beta carotene for color.”

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE F%&@?!?!

I sat there, stunned, popcorn halfway to my mouth, questioning everything I’d ever known. All these years, I’ve been bellying up to the snack bar, throwing down $87 for popcorn “with extra butter,” a medium soda, extra ice, and Milk Duds—only to discover the “butter” is some kind of Frankenstein oil masquerading as dairy.

My trust? Shattered.

My soul? Betrayed.

My popcorn? Still delicious, but now I’m side-eyeing it like it just told me it’s voting third party.

Now, should I care? Probably not. I mean, I’ve never once questioned the golden arches French fries, and I know they’re made with equal parts regret and black magic.

But something about this feels… wrong. Like, I was living in this blissful, buttery bubble of ignorance, and now that bubble has popped. With soybean oil.

And yet, here I am. Eating the popcorn. Still loving it. Still mad. Still eating it.

Honestly, if I could erase this knowledge from my brain and go back to my happy, stupid self, I would. But until then, I’ll be sitting here, scarfing down my scientifically engineered “butter,” feeling betrayed—and oddly, a little impressed.

Ignorance is delicious.