My dearest Peanut Butter,
You are the PB to my J.
When I’m alone and seeking solace, I turn to you. Your creamy, sticky texture warms my insides and sticks to my gums. Sometimes, you switch things up a bit and are crunchy–I don’t mind. When you’re too gooey for me to handle, I like to tone things down with a glass of milk. Many others have tried to steal my stomach, but they were all impostors. I could never want one of those fake flavored “peanut spreads”. No cinnamon raisin, pumpkin spice, chocolate, maple, or honey flavors should ever taint you. I like your peanuttyness. Only real peanut butter contains over 90% peanuts. You are naturally perfect the way you are.
I’ll admit, I’ve used you. I’ve put you on crackers and in cookies, stuffed you into celery, slathered bread with you, and drizzled you over noodles. There are other times that I haven’t told you about where I took you for a run-around. Muffins, cakes, lattes, oatmeal, chili, fudge, ice cream, smoothies, donuts, eggs, and dumplings have all been blessed with your presence. They were so lucky to share you for a little while.
My sweet PB, I’m in awe of your constant desire to help others. Remember that time when you were given to patients in hospital who were too sick to eat solids? Do you recall when you were sent to people in foreign countries to treat malnutrition? Even in winter, you brave the cold, waiting for birds to feed on you.
How can I even put a dollar figure on your worth? Every year, Americans spend 800 million dollars on you. I know that our parents don’t approve of our relationship, but I don’t care. People say it’s wrong that you’re so much older than me(you were patented in 1884). Love has no boundaries, be it consistency, calories, or messiness. I will shout it from the rooftops–I don’t care who knows:
I love you, Peanut Butter!