Posted by: wrmcnutt | April 12, 2010

P-Nut Butter

So, I had a little exchange with my wife tonight.  I think I scared her.  It went something like this.

We were watching the Food Network, and the subject of peanut butter wandered by.

“So,” she sez, innocently, “were you a ‘Peter Pan’ house?”


“Um, er.  Oh.  Ah, well. ‘Jiff’ house, I guess.”

‘Growl!  Snarl! Grunt! Howl!  NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

(Wife actually *cringes*.  If you knew her, you’d know how impressive this is!)

“El Cheapo (my mother)  bought a freaking PALLET of peanut butter n had been dead longer than I’d been alive.  I think it was US Army surplus, seconded to the Red Cross for disaster relief for Hurricane Betsy! It was in stainless steel cans that must have weighed five freaking pounds.

It took weeks to empty one of those cans.  They were filled with a brown substance that had the consistency of cured concrete.  A child couldn’t cut the stuff with a tomahawk.  Hell, I couldn’t have cut the stuff with a 404 buzz-saw.  God FOR @#$%^8-ing-bid you should try to spread it on white bread. The stuff had no give to it.  Unless you were using a trowel to spread it on a BRICK, it was going to shred any bread you tried to put it on.

She didn’t buy peanut butter the entire time I lived at home, from 1963 to 1984.  I didn’t get a peanut butter sandwich that didn’t clock my nethers until I’d moved out of the house.”

I miss my mama, but her choices in peanut butter . . . not so much.

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  1. well I guess we all know what to get you for Christmas. I take it you would want the creamy smooth variety?

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