Butter Lovers (not so) Anonymous
My name is Lisa, and I’m a butter-a-holic.
There is no reforming me as I admit my vice with no remorse and only scant shame. Over the years I have slathered butter on everything from Pop Tarts to ham sandwiches, doughnuts to pizza crust. I have even put butter on steak and used it as a dip for pretzels. Yum. Haven’t tried it with ice cream, but I bet if mixed up just right it would taste heavenly.
Don’t worry. I don’t eat like that all the time. I temper my butter consumption with a rabid fear of acquiring thunder thighs and a rotund rumpus. Also, I can’t afford a whole new wardrobe, so if my derriere exceeds my size 6 Levi’s I’m in big trouble. This is motivation to keep my butter loving ways in check, but occasionally I go on a bender.
Last Thursday was one of those days. I took my youngest to the movies and treated myself to buttered popcorn. I usually don’t buy popcorn at the movies, because if I don’t have to rescue the kernels from drowning there isn’t enough butter in the bag. I don’t know how many Weight Watcher points comprise a bag of popcorn after it has been Lisatized, but the number would render me unconscious, so avoidance is my usual action. Not Thursday.
My young ‘un and I moseyed from the snack counter to the condiment bar where “butter flavored popcorn oil” is available, “butter” being the operative word. My daughter had a large Icee and a bag of Sno-Caps, but she knows the drill so stopped with me while I prepared my popped corn.
“What are you going to do with that?” She asked when I pulled a gallon size zip-up freezer bag from my purse.
“Behold, buttercup,” said I.
I dumped half the bagged popcorn into the plastic bag and then buttered the bejeepers out of both bags, stopping to add salt and shake up the two bags to distribute the yellow delight evenly. I dumped the popcorn from the paper bag into the clear plastic bag, added more buttery stuff for good measure, zipped it up tight and gave it another good shake.
“Uh, I’m going in to find us a seat,” she said, backing away. “This is embarrassing.”
“What? I just want my popcorn evenly buttered.”
“What a great idea!” A woman behind me declared. “I hate when you get halfway into the bag and the popcorn isn’t buttered. This idea is a keeper! I love buttered popcorn. Love. It. I am so going to do this next time.”
Clearly, this woman possessed great insight and taste, and I beamed at her. It isn’t often I meet a fellow butter lover of such grand proportions.
Since my Thursday binge I’ve dodged the scale and ignored the butter dish. I’ll be good for a few months and then, heaven help me, I’ll fall off the wagon again. I could try to act guilty about it, but that’s hard to pull off when I’m doing the shake-up-the-butter-and-popcorn dance.
Til next time, buttercup –
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