Thursday, July 7, 2011

peanut butter

it takes a while, but every now and then i get to crack open a fresh jar of peanut butter. 
i am a fan of its convenience and stalwart nature. it is almost always here... or else there seems to be something just a little amiss in my universe. 
my eldest daughter ate peanut butter sandwiches every day of her lower school life. she never complained, asked for turkey, or balked. now i think she is just  sick of it. i bet though, that she will return to its dependability some time in her future. 
my other two kids never had the taste for regular consumption. they were able to eat hot lunches since they went to different schools. 
my husband loves the stuff. he eats peanuts from a can, from a jar, from their roasty shells, from cocktail mixes, and in the crunchy or smooth butter manifestation. he swears daily, that he is not the responsible party when it comes to the streaky micro-hills and valleys left in every peanut butter jar. i know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is the culprit of that crime. 
by sheer regularity of consumption, he is that guy.

note the more northern tracks... created by the celery stalks in more than one sweep. 
i tell ya!
knife sweeps on the more southern surface. 

it is not something that i can deny... yet another confession here... but i am quite picky about food, in all shapes and considerations.  i feel like nancy drew every time i see those telltale marks in the pb. i know my husband has been uber lazy again and in need of a really quick snack. he loves to eat peanut butter from the jar with a stalk of celery. no knife is used. it is his salute to bachelorhood, 
albeit dead in his case by nearly 3 decades. 
his lack of sensitivity in this matter, simply drives me nuts. i hate that he either double dips his celery stalks out of spite or to get a rise from me . either way, he is profoundly amused every time.
 he is as deeply amused as i am not. and i mean it in the most royal manner possible. 

this just in, almost caught in the act...
he laughed and suggested i was collecting evidence.
soooo busted. 

it is not as if he does much cooking or loads the dishwasher. his strengths lie with autos and  playing with the gardens outside. inside the house, he is pretty much a pasha on his end of the sofa. everyone including the poor dog must move from "the spot" ,should he have his eye on it. the spot is park avenue of household real estate.  sometimes he jauntily comes into the living room with a fully  pb loaded celery stalk to taunt both me and the dog. he loves it for its compactness and stability. the fact that he can argue it is a crumb free experience is also something he jousts at me with. 
the lack of a plate underneath this snack is his way to start a conversation.
other husbands can use an under experienced:"and how was your day dear?".
sadly, i am not one of them.

 i am almost always the one that uses the vacuum cleaner. pointedly aimed towards me is this dramatic segway is the ongoing potential for more regularity of use. 
seriously, the man has a wicked and twisted sense of how far he can push me.
 why should  it amuse him so thoroughly every day?
 i see a copy of the movie "ground hog's day" in his future.  

the only one here that deserves his own jar of peanut butter is my beloved doggie.
 he is totally ecstatic when i share some peanuts with him. he will take the single nut between his front teeth if it is offered to him. then he  will walk to some other part of the room with his precious cargo. 
only then will he allow himself the glee of eating a single goober. 
and unlike all the other inmates, he appreciates what he has been offered.

my hero, my companion...
sleeping it off in puppy nirvana

for our morning waking ritual... i like to take care of my ablutions and set the microwave to heat milk for my coffee. while i pour the milk into the cup with its integral spoonful of raw sugar, the dog sits at full attention. he knows he is going to get a small dog biscuit. he waits patiently. i  try to brush my teeth in tandem with the coffee brewing and the microwave timer going off. the dog follows me.  three minutes is good for a lot of my mini-tasks. 
he remains patient while i take care of my coffee  brewing issues. he gets a second naked cookie for his good behavior. he is likely to dispose of that in record time too. 
should  he become a smidge impatient some mornings with my movements, 
it is because he knows the good stuff is coming. 
i butter up a couple of small dog biscuits with a relatively sized schmear of pb and top them with the matching canine cookie tops. 
drool will have formed, yet he remains mostly polite. 
i am repeatedly amused when he shifts on his feet as if he were stamping them with  a teensy tantrum.
 i suppose if i was relegated to a constant diet of kibble these two peanut butter and dog biscuit "oreo" variants would truly be a daily highlight. 
 i can't fault him for this. 

backing up to the husbandly denial of sticking his celery into the jar for his own snack and being caught so very many times doing so, and my  feeling unimportant because of this 28 year siege on my food sensibilities.... well i am planning my own surprise venture. 
i am going to leave a dog biscuit next to the celery tracks in the jar. 
i think my message could come into focus with this retaliatory action.
 really, how many times do i need to address that if i am made to be in charge of all household foods, i should be blindly obeyed in their storage and usage?   
the evidence of double dipping in the community jar  is  its own  ridiculous issue.
 the preposterous  response i get every time is  that he forgot.
seriously, he may be working through his death wish one pale green stalk at a time.
i am too old for this crap.
 let the war of the roses start on the ignominious management of a big ole goober eating goober spread. 
bring it on mister. 

rant over. . .
thanks for the visit.

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