2 Cupids & a Giveaway

Speaking of movies:  I recently saw Ghost.  Yup.  The movie with pre-Ashton Demi Moore and a rugged Patrick Swayze.  Now I understand why some ladies I know all swoon over Patrick Swayze.  I guess he's like the Jonas Brothers (all three wrapped into one) of today's generation.  Or more like the favorite Backstreet Boy of my generation (Nick - did you know that I was going to marry you?  Yeah.  Until you came out with your own reality show.  I think we might be better off as friends).  

Anyways.  So, this year, I participated in the blogger Secret Valentine.  I can't tell you who it is, but that person will find out in 2-3 days.  I decided to take on a second valentine, too (don't tell my mama - she'll be disappointed in me), but she knows who she is.  You're getting brittle, my darling.

In regards to the giveaway (did I just say "in regards?"  Really?  And what is up with the overly abundant parenthetical deliberations today?), it's about peanut butter.  Remember my post about PB2?  The crazy delicious powdered peanut butter?  Yes, well, Gina over at Bell Plantation has oh-so-generously sent me 4 jars of PB2 to use in a giveaway!  Now, instead of my brilliantly fantastic initial idea of sending one person 4 jars of PB2 (I have an excuse:  I had a Nyquil in my system.  And there I go again with those parentheses), I've decided to choose 4 people to each receive one jar of the original PB2!  

Would ya like to know how you may get a jar? 

Go ahead and comment on this entry.  Tell me this: What was your first ever memory of Peanut Butter?  What brand was it?  How did it taste like?  What did it look like to you?  Did you eat it straight out of the jar, or was it slathered on fresh, toasted bread?  

Since I'm asking all those incredibly deep, thought-provoking questions that are worthy enough to be asked in Philosophy 121, I'll answer them first.

I was sitting up, with my back board-straight, in the seat usually reserved for my grandpa, swinging my legs back and forth beneath the chair.  My younger brother was sitting to the left of me.  My mama was in the kitchen, telling me that she was going to make breakfast.  I wasn't a breakfast type of gal (can anyone really look back onto their childhood and honestly say that they liked eating breakfast?  I thought it was such a waste of biking time), but I had to sit there and wait.  My mama brought over two plates, and set each in front of my brother and me.  She then brought over two glasses of warm milk (we weren't allowed to drink anything cold when we were little cause it contributed to colds.  Shush.) and set that to the right of the plate.  I looked at my plate, smelled my food (yes, I smelled my food when I was little.  I actually put my nose against the dish and sniffed cautiously because my family liked to trick me into eating foods like eggs and tofu and cauliflower), and looked incredulously at my mother.  

"What's this?" I pointed to the piece of bread, folded in half.  "It's got brown stuff inside it."  

My mother returned back to the kitchen, and while wiping down the counter (my mama's a proud clean freak), replied, "It's hua-seng jiang."  

I stared at my plate.  My mama had just told me, in Chinese, that it was "peanut butter."  Of course, I had no clue what peanut butter was, so that didn't really help.  

"What's in it?"  

Clearing away the dirty dishes, she said, "Peanuts."

I looked over at my brother.  He was already chowing away at his piece of dried bread with the weird brown mix.  He seemed to be enjoying it.

Slightly comforted, I lifted up the piece of bread to take a bite.  Then set it back down.

My brother liked everything.

My mother was watching me.  She was so excited that, maybe today, she'd get me to eat my food without the usual 20-minute interrogation.  She'd become ecstatic when I lifted up my peanut butter sandwich to take a bite, and then felt the knocking blow of a close victory being snatched away.  So close.

It began.

"Does it have eggs in it?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You didn't put an egg in here?"

"No."

"Does it have tofu in it?"

"No.  You'd know if you would tas-"

"Does it have cauliflower in it?"

"No, just tast-"

"Why is it so brown?"

"It's the color of peanuts."

"The ones that you eat aren't brown.  They're beige."

"This one is brown."

"Are there brown peanuts in the world?"

"I don't know."

"Did you mix this with something weird?  Why is it brown?  Did you mix the peanuts with the tea eggs?  Those are brown.  Did you mix the peanuts with the tea-eggs to try and get me to eat the eggs? You know I don't like those eggs. Eggs are gross. They smell.  I don't want it.  I want my pop tart."

"No, there are no eggs.  Why would I put in eggs?"

"I don't know.  You do it all the time."

"Eat it."

"So why do you?"

"Why do I what?"

"Why do you try and trick me to eat eggs?"

"Pearl, there are no eggs and no tofu in this sandwich."

I paused.

"Mama, where did you put the peanuts?"

"Why, do you want some?"

"Yes please."

My mother went and grabbed the peanuts.  I popped open a shell.  I crushed the peanut with a spoon, and made a crumbly mess on the table.

"Pearl, what are you doing?  You just made a mess on the tab-"

Convinced that there was something sneaky in it, I fumed, "If this brown stuff is made from peanuts, then why is it sticky? I can't get the peanuts to stick together!!!"

My mother stared at me, in all of my huffing, mad, self-righteous four-year-old pigtailed glory.  I looked back at her.  She took a deep breath.

"Just take a bite.  If you don't like it, I'll get you your pop tart."

I looked at my sandwich.  Weird.  Brown stuff oozing out and sticking to my fingers.  Ugh.  How incredibly messy (can you see the resemblance?).  

I picked it up.  I took a bite.

I swallowed.  

And then I took another bite.

"Thish ith fun!"  I proclaimed, "It sticksh to mah mouf."

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