Dear Peanut,
I don't write you letters nearly as often as I'd like. This time, however, extenuating circumstances have forced me to come clean. Those circumstances mainly being my guilty conscience and... well, not much else. But before I come clean, I need to give you a warning: Be careful what you wish for.
Recently you switched your daily lunch request from chicken nuggets to peanut butter and jelly. You did so despite my mild protests. You see, my princess, it is a lot easier for me to make you a week's worth of nuggets on Sunday night, store them in the fridge, and gather four of them at a time every morning along with some peas and blueberries for a balanced and delicious lunch.
On the other hand, making a fresh PB&J every morning while I'm rushing off to work is a mess and a hassle. The bread, the ingredients, the special PB&J spreader. (Yes, there is such a thing and we have one.) The crumbs on the counter. Not to mention the biggest hassle of them all: the removal of the crust. (Quickly followed by the subsequent ingestion of the crust because daddy doesn't like to waste food.) On top of all of that, add to the equation a spoiled dog who believes she is entitled to peanut butter any time the jar is taken out of the pantry.
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I don't write you letters nearly as often as I'd like. This time, however, extenuating circumstances have forced me to come clean. Those circumstances mainly being my guilty conscience and... well, not much else. But before I come clean, I need to give you a warning: Be careful what you wish for.
Recently you switched your daily lunch request from chicken nuggets to peanut butter and jelly. You did so despite my mild protests. You see, my princess, it is a lot easier for me to make you a week's worth of nuggets on Sunday night, store them in the fridge, and gather four of them at a time every morning along with some peas and blueberries for a balanced and delicious lunch.
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| That's the special spreader. |
