Pass the PB, please (and no, not the PBR)
I have an unnatural predisposition to peanut butter. One that might be deemed questionable, or perhaps inappropriate. It might, if one were lucky, be viewed in the same light as Benny & Joon's handling of the grilled cheese, or perhaps Sedaris's brother and the Fuck-it Bucket, but let's face it. A physically-grown woman (emotionally-underdeveloped, of course) licking a spoon clean of peanut butter,
straight from the jar, is cause for concern. Lean Cuisine kind of concern. Like, "What did you have for dinner?" Reply: "Oh, I had 3 tablespoons of pure, unadulterated
peanut butter. And it was
good." Nobody equates the pb with dirty duties - no one thinks of it as the sensual spread (which, by the way, sounds more pornographic than anything I've written, and will now exponentially increase my visitors due to googling "sensual spread." I'm guessing these will be open-minded, free agents, looking for Tantric-type acts. Instead they will find this, this ODE to the PEANUT BUTTER).
Neither do I, really. Or do I? Or does everyone? Since I find the pb more enjoyable than almost anything in life, with the exception of Jameson, perhaps I do view it as more than just a friend. I've been guzzling coffee alongside my standard peanut butter toast every morning for years now, and nothing seems to be letting up. Now I have the pb toast at all hours of the day, I nearly choke on Reese's Pieces, and I just bought Peanut Butter Toast Crunch cereal. In fact, as I just declared myself a non-relationship person, perhaps I was too hasty - for there is nothing... nothing as good as my luurve for the peanut butter. I dare you to find me a more comparable mate.
2005-05-02 | 10:19 p.m.
