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From: the Pen and the Inkwell
Date: 04 Jun 2004
Time: 18:11:48 -0500
Remote Name: 69.108.155.208
I use a separate knife for the peanut butter, and a separate knife for the jelly. I don't even use the regular butter knifes, I use the small little half-knives that look like artist spatulas. I have no idea what they were actually intended for, but I use them for butter when I have guests over. There has to be peanut butter reaching each corner of the bread, because I think it's a rip off when you go to the last bite and it's weak. Such a let down. But - I don't want so much peanut butter and jelly as to allow it to spill over the edges and 'create' a mess - that would create a problem since I am a true multi-tasker and need clean hands for my projects. I make swirls and waves and ripples - then I shake my head in disgust and smooth it all out even and try to make it so you can't see the indentation of the knife. It doesn't take me long to do this, but it happens every time. Even when nobody is looking, I doodle on the bread with things like brown mustard ... or marbelize mayo and mustard in a marriage of condiments ... shhh! people with think me mad! Those close to me have been known to peek inside a sandwich hoping for a secret message to be devoured. As for brown bags ... what are those? And working, jobs ... single-digit mornings? Perish the thought! Who ARE you people?! Ahem ... (as she straightens out her shirt) okay, I confess, I too, was once part of the population that wears a watch, but now, I have no need for one. Do not be alarmed, dear reader, no one has slashed my hand from my wrist (yet) but years and years of desiging with my hands have nearly crippled me, and I had to stop working (playing) all day at a job that I loved. I contemplate daily which way my less-travelled road will lead me. God be praised, I am supported by an adoring husband who desires neither Paris or Italy, but in a heartbeat would sacrifice his own lunches (and more) to get me there if I even so much as hinted. I trust that if it is to be, it shall. I am content beyond measure where I am, having seen the world at even a better time than if I were to go now. I don't mind remembering the places as they were, with floweres lining dirt roads, my zia riding up on a Vespa as I had limone gelato while my uncle and his friends taught me the rules of bocce on a hard sand court in the back of the casino. They used to send me down the street to the bakery each morning to pick up the baguettes for the day's lunch crowd. On one such morning, I came back and had eaten out all the insides and turned the pane over to hide the miniature fist-sized holes! I remember later that day, my aunt screaming to my mom, "a little mouse has gotten into this bread, we will have to send her back to get some more!" And this 4 year old giggled with delight! Side note: I refused to eat the eggs there because I didn't like the brownish color of the shells. To this day, I prefer crisp white paper to write on, as opposed to creamy linen paper. Coincidence? I think not ...