This is me yesterday afternoon. I pull a spoon out of the drawer, the peanut butter from the cabinet, and lean hip-first into the kitchen counter while I savor the first lick of peanut butter. It’s a simple taste and so good. It makes me think back to sitting on my grandmother’s kitchen counter with a glass jar of peanut butter between us. It reminds me of grape jelly and milk chocolate and elementary school lunches. It’s a beautiful thing. So I eat another spoonful, knowing I should clear all the peanut butter out of my house, for my own sake. It’s my forbidden fruit, which of course makes it that much sweeter. I could rationalize it. Say it’s full of protein and healthy fat. But really? Does anyone need three spoonfuls of peanut butter in one afternoon. The answer is No.
Not even if it is creamy (or crunchy, if that’s what’s in your jar).
I thought that was cookie dough. That’s what I would have been eating.
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Oh. Cookie Dough is a weakness too. And cake. And brownies. And ice cream. And, well, you get the picture.