<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SYTPL2RVG9I/AAAAAAAAAlw/09VRlR4ZP44/s1600-h/DSC03563.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SYTPL2RVG9I/AAAAAAAAAlw/09VRlR4ZP44/s400/DSC03563.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297586864148257746" border="0" /></a>Yesterday we were stocking up at my home away from home, Sam's Club, when, in the salad dressings and canned meat (?!) isle, I overheard the following conversation: <div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Woman A</span>, as she caresses a giant bottle of Kraft Ranch Dressing: "Wouldn't this be a nice birthday present to myself?" </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Woman B:</span> "Get yourself one. It's only $7.88." </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Woman A:</span> "I would, but it'd be gone in a month anyway." </div><div><br /></div><div>I feel ya, honey. While I'm not a fan of anything Kraft, I could eat homemade buttermilk Ranch dressing on pretty much anything but ice cream. No matter how stuck up about food I try to be, it's not changing anytime soon that I would eagerly consume Ranch dressing intravenously if for some reason my mouth had to be cemented shut.</div><div><br /></div><div>I blame the four generations' worth of Tulsan blood pumping through my veins for my inability to wholeheartedly enjoy a green salad without drowning it in that lumpy, tangy substance. There is something in our DNA that has culminated over the years into a weakness not only for loud, whiny country music and Cracker Barrel merchandise, but also for Ranch dressing. And, French fries dipped in chocolate shake. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tulsans, what are your other guilty food pleasures that would make a Yankee swoon?</div>