Dinner late yesterday. Not ten minutes late. Really late. It gets better. As post-dinner “treat” I get this kind of pasty concrete. Wait, oh, I see, it’s supposed to be peanut butter. Like the rainy season in California is winter. Yes, I scored Flavor Blasted Xtra Cheddar Goldfish crackers during the game but that’s not the point.
Memo: Assuming I make age 16 – which could be a stretch – I am 56.25% of the way through my life. I don’t want organic, sugar-free with a hint of fair-trade sea salt peanut butter. I want Skippy.