CHOOSY MOTHERS CHOOSE JIF TRIAL
CHOOSY MOTHERS CHOOSE JIF FREE

I never had to share my clothes with my sister. I never had to wait for my brother to get out of the shower. I had a lot of stuff, what I didn't have were siblings. My mom didn't say I love you, she bought it and gave it to you. I'm pretty sure my mom was reliving her, let's say, less abundant childhood vicariously through me. I had my own room with a canopy bed and pink shag carpet, a groovy bike with Hi-Rise handlebars and a flaming banana seat, and Barbie's three-foot, three-story Townhouse with working elevator. I didn't demand things or pitch a fit or throw myself on the floor in the toy department at Grant's. I might have been spoiled, but I was really quite pleasant about it. Now before you go thinking that I was Veruca Salt in the chocolate factory, all spoiled and demanding with the stamping foot, I wasn't. I grew up in the contented splendor of my own quiet kingdom where everything, or so it seemed anyway, was either for me, about me, or mine. I think my problem (and now my husband's problem), is I am an only child. Otherwise I would've texted in the generic. Choosy mothers choose Jif.'Īt this point I woudn't eat that Skippy peanut butter if I had just spent the winter on the Donner pass. Mind you, I have lived with this man every day for over a year now. Somehow my dear, sweet, otherwise intelligent husband cannot understand what the big deal is. Thankfully, I know a thing or two about lawyering and, since my husband and I do not speak to each other much, I produce and submit the textual evidence wherein I specified the product brand Jif by name. He is using his Mock Lawyer voice now as he tells me that I did not specify the exact peanut butter brand in my request.

CHOOSY MOTHERS CHOOSE JIF FREE

Yes, he's a teacher too, but he teaches at a private school where they have four-course, gourmet lunches free for teachers and students that do their homework and keep their butts safely stowed out of sight in their pants.

CHOOSY MOTHERS CHOOSE JIF TRIAL

My husband coaches the Mock Trial team at his school.

'Didn't I say Jif?' I ask, smiling, still smiling, my glittering lunch dreams turning to dust on the island butcher block.

'Peanut butter,' he replies, pulling me close and kissing me. I'm crying, Boehner-like, on the inside and I ask my wonderful husband: I want to incorporate a peanut butter and banana sandwich into my lunch routine and by the time my kind, loving husband returns home I am as excited about this sandwich as the Tea Party was about John Boehner resigning the speakership. I live off my super powers.īut I digress. Clark does not exist in the summer, hence there is no lunch in the summer. Clark Kent has twenty minutes to throw something down his gullet, so delighting the pallet is of little concern. Clark Kent likes the same lunch every day. In my real life, my Clark Kent life, I am a teacher. I am one of those people who will eat the exact, same lunch every day for 180 days. I'm trying to spice up my otherwise monotonous lunch break. I would like some Jif peanut butter and some bananas. I tell him, why yes, in fact, there is something I want at the store. As I said, he is thoughtful, loving, and kind. So, my thoughtful, kind, loving husband texts me the other day asking if there's anything I want at the store.

Choosy mothers choose jif