A House Divided
A subtle shift in the balance of power has taken place in my household. My son has crossed over to the dark side. Like his mother before him, my own son now like crunchy peanut butter.
For the first time in my life, I find myself in a minority of “one” on the eternal debate on smooth versus crunchy. To make matters worse, we’re all out of smooth. I’m going to have to go to the store — me, lord and master of the mansion, go to the frickin’ store — for a small jar of smooth peanut butter. Never have I been forced so low.
The ultimate capper? The reason we’re out of smooth is because they fed it to the dog. Help me, George Washington Carver — you’re my only hope.
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Out of spite? Or is the dog taking medicine? Tell them to feed the dog crunch peanut butter. Our dogs like it just fine.
Crunchy peanut butter rules, by the way. We like the “natural” stuff with no sugar. Yumm…
crunchy for me
We give the dog a “Kong” toy stuffed with treats when he’s here by himself all day. He really likes peanut butter in it. He doesn’t care if it’s crunchy or not. I’ll never again scrape the last bits out of an almost-empty jar just because I want to finish it before I open a new one. From now on, I’ll always make sure it’s the “right” peanut butter!
Unwashed heathens, all of you.