Dear Peanut Butter,

You are a goober.

I hate you


I love you

With you, I become Passive/Aggressive. It’s totally bizarre.

I regale you because you sooth my soul and make my mouth water.  You fill me up…and are magical. I think about you all the time. Beware!  I don’t admire your salty side.

I reject you because…well, because…I can’t eat just one honest teaspoon.  And, YOU KNOW what I’m talkin’ about.  My teaspoons are beyond heaping…they tend to become one (half jar) per sitting.

I don’t want you in my life.

But there you sit in the fridge and it’s obvious that you are here to stay in my house.   We need a truce.  As I put up my red flag, I say…”what now”?

How about this…every time you come out to play, I find our arbiters:

La tsp and De Knife and ask them to draw a line at how much I can eat.

It’s a Nobel Peace Prize winning type of idea, and I say we try it.

With LOVE,


PS-My lean jeans send their regards and are breathing a huge sigh of relief at our amicable Treaty of Legume.

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