I just spent about five entire minutes trying to open a bag of sour Skittles, my favourite type of candy. My friend had left them at my house by accident, so, feeling lucky, I decided to eat them.

Now I have never claimed to be proficient at the skill of opening candy bags, but I had believed that I was not completely unable to complete such a task. Little did I know! That pesky little bugger would not open, no matter how hard I tried.

First I tried just pulling the flap of plastic out and forcing the bag open. That failed miserably, and I actually looked around my empty room to ensure that no one saw my ridiculous display of mediocrity.

Next, I deemed that end of the bag malformed and proceeded to try the same strategy with the other end of the bag. I arrived at the same, pitiful result and was left with drops of sweat forming on my forehead.

I even tried ripping the rebellious plastic apart with my teeth. After mauling the end of the bag and still arriving at nothing, I was enraged. The nerve of such a small, insignificant thing to deny me my indulgence.

Then I thought to myself, "Self, this is Fate telling you that some things are not meant to be." The bag of Skittles was not mine to begin with; it was acquired through devious and dishonest means. I understood what was being insinuated.

But then I opened my drawer and pulled out the scissors. Mmm, these Skittles sure do taste good.