Skip the flowers; bring me butter.
That’s what I heard myself say, talking out loud in the kitchen while I was making breakfast. I was frying eggs & spinach & I pulled out the good butter from the fridge. Not the regular unsalted, supermarket, stick butter that I use for cooking, but the good stuff. Amish hand-rolled, locally sourced from Pennsylvania butter. My favorite butter. You know, real ingredients, satisfying, no chemicals, good-for-the-complexion butter.
And that’s when I heard myself. I was talking out loud saying, “You coming over for a dinner party and you wanna bring a great hostess gift? Skip the flowers; bring me butter.”
And then I laughed. I laughed at the thought of a friend armed with butter at my front door & I laughed at how much this was an Eve-type of comment. & then I remembered how my babydoll was named Butter. & then I remembered that I was talking outloud in the kitchen & belly laughing in delight at the thought of eating my favorite butter. I let the sunlight in that morning.
Let that sunlight in, sweeties. I talk out loud to myself about butter & it turns out, I like me, even though I am a crazy-lady with a butter problem. Now, you go be you. Talk out loud to yourself, dance or laugh or sing around your kitchen, be another crazy-butter-lady if that’s you. Do What Ema Says.
