So, I hear the Super Bowl is going to be happening on Sunday. I’m going to be honest with you and let you know that I have no idea who is playing, and very little understanding of Football itself other than the obvious “CLEAR EYES, FULL HEARTS, CAN’T LOSE!”–You know, those Friday Night Lights feels. Texas Forever. Coach Taylor. Jason Street. Riggins. QB ONE! Ok, those aren’t really sentences, but rather just me blurting out names. Cool. Cool, cool. […]
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. […]
