i have a problem.

i can’t stop eating the peanut butter in our house.

right there out of the jar.

heinous and uncouth.

please, if ever you are our guest, and are offered a sandwich with this said condiment, insist that we use a fresh, unopened bottle. otherwise you are subject to a peanut butter ravaged and abased with my passed, unstoppable spoon dips.


i try to qualify my food crime with buying organic, unsalted, sugar-free peanut butter.  in the end though, when you’re scraping the bottom of the glass, and your peasant blouse fits like lycra…..does it really matter?

last week i had had enough. i trash canned ALL the peanut butter in the house.

out of sight out of mind. out of my mouth.

{maybe the silverware will go next}

all was going so well until hunky hubby wanted his saturday peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

him: where’s all the peanut butter?

me: uh. well, ah…hmm. ahh….don’t i look cute in this dress?

20 minutes later my beloved returned from the market with a jar of…..skippy.


skippy, in like annette funicello?

skippy, where the ingredient list has sugar before peanuts?

if ever a label could boast its hydrogenated oil content this one does.

remind me of this when i’m checking in for my bypass surgery.

happy monday m’loves, this youtube walk down memory lane has me major crushing on annette’s hair;  i’m dashing to the salon.

oh, and yes, i finished that goddamn jar of skippy too.




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