So, butter.

We have a history.

This weekend I was hanging out with my family, and these words were inevitably spoken to me:

“Hey, Gina! Remember how you used to sneak into the fridge and leave finger prints in the butter container?”

Yes. Yes I do. It went something like this…

I would wait until no one was in my grandparent’s kitchen. I would sneak over to the fridge and pray that the large tub of Country Crock was within my stubby-four-year-old-arm’s reach. If it was, I would sneakily remove it from its place in the fridge and bring it over to the kitchen table. Silently, I would remove the top off of the tub of butter. Eureka! I would dip my fat little fingers inside of the container and eat the butter off my hands. Carefully, I would put the top back on the container and make sure to place it back where I found it in the refrigerator. My four-year old self did not understand that I had left substantial evidence of my shenanigans behind. There were little finger divots and prints left in the butter tub. I was the only four-year-old that frequented that house. I was caught red-handed. Several times. I will also NEVER live this down. […]