Like the time I found myself trapped in a room for 45 minutes with 120 veiled, old ladies at their 35th Catholic Nun reunion.
Or the time I gave myself food poisoning after eating some leftover fish that was not refrigerated.
Or the time I went on a date with a guy I met at a bookstore. He turned out to be a very unstable, 28- year- old man, still living with his mother. Oh yeah, he was also the first and last practicing Wiccan I’ve ever dated.
Really this list could go on and on (honestly, I could spend an entire day on just my own food poisoning encounters... over half are sadly from my own cooking), but my life seems to have mellowed out for the time being. Nothing completely unfortunate has happened to me since moving to Wisconsin. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve encounter my fair share of strange and interesting people and had more than a handful of uncomfortable situations in the last month, but nothing truly unfortunate.
Until this morning. Pandora’s box has been opened yet again.
Let’s start with some important details:
I love bread. I will shameless admit that I have polished off an entire loaf in two days, maybe less. I also love peanut butter. So naturally in the mornings I like to enjoy some toast with peanut butter. Breakfast of Champions.
This morning while my bread was toasting and I was blissfully enjoying the aroma of hot bread and coffee, I reached into the cabinet for the peanut butter jar. Not just any peanut butter, but White Chocolate Wonderful. One of the best peanut butters you can buy.
As I opened this brand new jar of peanut butter, I notice that the protection seal under the lid had been opened. “Hm, maybe I already used some?” I stupidly thought to myself.
And then the true reality set in, a customer had scooped a giant finger full of White Chocolate Wonderful right out of the jar!!
I was shocked and disgusted. Who does that? Who eats peanut butter out of a jar at a store?! Come on, that’s something you do at home (with a spoon), usually while wallowing over a newly ex boyfriend by spending an entire weekend watching all four seasons of Felicity in a pair of fat pants.
To whoever stuck his finger in my peanut butter and ruined this month of mellowness for me, I would like to congratulate you. You successfully horrified and disgusted me. I will, for now on, check every jar of peanut butter for finger scoops. Shame on you with your sticky, peanut butter finger. Shame on you.