Peanut Butter Trenches

Correction: 8 weeks now. I guess I was short a Hail Mary or something.

Moving on:

One of my bestest chums from university has been waiting for this post. You see, she is a lurker and doesn't leave comments (except maybe once), but I know she's here. She's even met Cletus and I threatened to post a picture of the two of them enjoying the lovely dinner she made last weekend (ish). Although, for the record, I question her knowledge about children and fetuses because she was trying to feed Cletus some roast and potatoes. I hope this gets straightened out before she rents out her womb to a fetus.

Anyhoo...we went out to visit her and her lovely husband. The boys were to tile their bathroom, and we girls were to go shopping. Which we did happily, and I'm proud to report neither of us came home with shoes or a purse (it was very close for awhile but we were strong).
I digress.
After dinner, she was making tea for yours truly (a staple in my diet as you know), when I hear snickering from behind me. She's got the bloody peanut butter container out. Some may think she was reverting back to evil practical jokes/nastiness from our more youthful days (remember being locked out and having to eat your food like a dog at the door before we'd let you in?), but I knew instantly what the fuss was about. She's lucky I wasn't stirring the tea with a knife.
You see, Miss Muffy here is having a good laugh. She shows me her peanut butter jar and starts laughing as I feel heat rise from beneath my shirt. Back in university, my lovely roommates would dig these god-awful trenches in the peanut butter! Right down to the bottom! It would irritate me to no end, as I was always filling in these trenches and making the peanut butter smooth and presentable...only to find it with 6 inch trenches the next day. Soon it became a game of: Let's annoy Sass, tie her down, hold her eyes open with matches and make her watch us dig deep into the jar. It would give me peanut butter nightmares.

It's just not right.
It's just not Christian in fact.

I snapped a picture, but really, it doesn't even do the trench digging queen any justice.

This has to stop. I don't care if it's your peanut butter or not, it's wrong.
End of discussion.

I'm heading out to therapy.