The Forbidden Fruit

This is a photo of Hannah, taken about six weeks ago.  In her effort to boycott our oatmeal breakfast, she (literally) busted open the bag of Fruity Pebbles, purchased by Maurice as his Late-Night Snack Food of the Week.  It was after this photo op that I declared the banning of all Fruity Pebbles until further notice--we added it to the list of other banned items:  Playdoh, Moon Sand, and other enrichment-geared activities that inevitably spell an ill fate for my home's interior, along with the hair and appendages of my children. 

Tonight I sent him to the store for some smoked sausage to put in the red beans and rice dinner.  What he came home with, in addition to the meat, was a bag of--you guessed it--Fruity Freaking Pebbles. 

So the following text message chat log ensued:

Me: U bought Fruity Pebbles!!!!!  Ahhhhhhhh the forbidden fruit!!!!

Mo: It's mine.  Put it out of the girls reach.

Me: Completely futile.  They are EVERYWHERE.

Mo:  How.  It's mine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (yes, he actually used that many exclamation points)
                                                                   
Me: Not the cereal, tweedle dee, the twins.  They are EVERYWHERE (yes, I actually capitalized 'everywhere')
                                                    
Mo: Oh, phew.  I was looking forward to cereal tonight.

....So is it me, or is my husband clearly not concerned with the plausible catastrophe presented by bringing the forbidden Fruit past the threshold of this house?  And in this quest for midnight snack delight, has he forgotten about the fact that we were finding Fruity Pebbles inside of the tupperware cabinet into the New Year?  WHY couldn't he just buy a bag of freaking Cheerios.  I mean, for the Love.