O, unsung ranch dressing. How my children love you so. They have eaten you straight, on hot dogs and grapes. And have happily used (veggie) chicken nuggets and honest-to-goodness vegetables as vehicles to your creamy goodness.

I know I should be nothing but grateful. You’ve eased mealtime stresses and likely saved my kids from the perils of malnutrition. But, Ranch? You give my baby ranch breath. And you’re so greasy in her hair when she puts her otherwise empty plate on her head.

I admit I think about cheating with a really attractive balsamic vinaigrette, but I bet it stains. Who knew love and condiments would be so complicated?

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