And that one is you, no other will do
Last night Mara and I went grocery shopping, which might sound super exciting but it's actually pretty typical around here. Yep, believe it or not it's how we spend just about every Friday night. I know someday I'll have to give up this crazy lifestyle, but for now, I'm gonna whoop it up and clip coupons like it ain't no thang.
Anyway, we were prowling the produce section at Rainbow (there's another thing, for being twenty-year-olds we spend a ridiculous amount of time in the produce section. We did not actually remember to buy chips or anything snacky like that until the second or third shopping trip, when we both agreed it was probably not normal to not have at least one bag of junk. I do not know how this happens. It is a mystery to me) when we walked too close to the organic peanut butter.
Normally I sneer at organic stuff. "You hippies can keep your spotty apples and bendy celery," I say scornfully, "my whole family has been eating the regular stuff for years andthey're perfectly normal
none of 'em have grown any extra arms or anything
in the end you're just a stinky hippie
well honestly who can afford that stuff anyway."
But the peanut butter...I've heard people extoll the virtues of organic peanut butter for years. It seems perfectly reasonable that maybe organic peanut butter would be better. I mean, if you're talking organic carrots, don't be an ass. It's a carrot. Maybe organic carrots are a little dirtier, but it's still a carrot. Whether it's pulled from the ground by a robot or a patchouli-scented guy named Moonbeam, it's just a carrot. Peanut butter has to get processed, though, one way or another. Maybe the hippies really have something here.
So of course we broke down and bought a little tub. It's ok to break down and buy things if they come in little tubs, I think. If that isn't in legislature, it should be. Then we finished our shopping and went home and gingerly placed the little tub in the pantry and called it a night.
This morning I excitedly shuffled into the kitchen (that's the only step I know in the morning, excited or otherwise) and made the little ants-on-a-log thing with celery and raisins and (fancypants organic) peanut butter, then took a bite and waited for something amazing to happen.
After a few puzzled minutes of experimentation, I discovered that if you eat a substantial amount and wait, a few seconds later you'll go "oh, peanut butter, I think I taste it now."
WHAT. I spent money on a little tub of this and the best it can do for me is remind me of those peanut butter kisses the uncool houses give out on Halloween?
Go stuff it, hippies, I'm gonna do what Big Peanut Butter wants me to do and buy into the Skippy propaganda next time. Not only is it way cheaper, but hee hee, skippy! Just say it, skippy. It's the greatest name ever! Yippee Skippy, hippy.
Anyway, we were prowling the produce section at Rainbow (there's another thing, for being twenty-year-olds we spend a ridiculous amount of time in the produce section. We did not actually remember to buy chips or anything snacky like that until the second or third shopping trip, when we both agreed it was probably not normal to not have at least one bag of junk. I do not know how this happens. It is a mystery to me) when we walked too close to the organic peanut butter.
Normally I sneer at organic stuff. "You hippies can keep your spotty apples and bendy celery," I say scornfully, "my whole family has been eating the regular stuff for years and
well honestly who can afford that stuff anyway."
But the peanut butter...I've heard people extoll the virtues of organic peanut butter for years. It seems perfectly reasonable that maybe organic peanut butter would be better. I mean, if you're talking organic carrots, don't be an ass. It's a carrot. Maybe organic carrots are a little dirtier, but it's still a carrot. Whether it's pulled from the ground by a robot or a patchouli-scented guy named Moonbeam, it's just a carrot. Peanut butter has to get processed, though, one way or another. Maybe the hippies really have something here.
So of course we broke down and bought a little tub. It's ok to break down and buy things if they come in little tubs, I think. If that isn't in legislature, it should be. Then we finished our shopping and went home and gingerly placed the little tub in the pantry and called it a night.
This morning I excitedly shuffled into the kitchen (that's the only step I know in the morning, excited or otherwise) and made the little ants-on-a-log thing with celery and raisins and (fancypants organic) peanut butter, then took a bite and waited for something amazing to happen.
After a few puzzled minutes of experimentation, I discovered that if you eat a substantial amount and wait, a few seconds later you'll go "oh, peanut butter, I think I taste it now."
WHAT. I spent money on a little tub of this and the best it can do for me is remind me of those peanut butter kisses the uncool houses give out on Halloween?
Go stuff it, hippies, I'm gonna do what Big Peanut Butter wants me to do and buy into the Skippy propaganda next time. Not only is it way cheaper, but hee hee, skippy! Just say it, skippy. It's the greatest name ever! Yippee Skippy, hippy.
posted by Betsi at 9:27 PM
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