My name is Bob, and I’m a butteroholic.
An Erma Bombeck quote: The other night my husband took me to dinner. We were having a wonderful time when he remarked,” You can certainly tell the wives from the sweethearts.” I stopped licking the stream of butter dripping down my elbow and replied, “What kind of crack is that?”
And who can blame her? While I’ve never licked butter dripping off my elbow, I have had it drop off my chin on many occasions. Popcorn, sweet corn, and toast immediately come to mind. But there are others.
Because it tastes so good, I can only assume it’s bad for me; however, does anyone really know for sure? I have yet to see a longevity equation that could predict an interval of time I could stay alive longer if I gave up butter. But this is a personal thing.
Publically, there is shame in my overindulgence. I notice people fidgeting in their seats when I order extra butter with my toast, or when I tell the concessions worker at the movie theater not to scrimp on the butter. I’m also aware of the knowing glances passed between my movie-going companions which says we are evidently in the presence of a man who can’t control his urges.
I am also a bit of a butter snob. The commercial brands (which vary considerably) aren’t good enough. I like to make my own so I can design it to my liking. If you want to try it, click on my recipe for homemade butter and scan down past the narrative. If you do decide to try it, also print off the release forms which absolves me of any health issues that may arise from the excessive use of my extra-tasty butter.
I have been a butter abuser for over seven decades. This might create a problem when I pass. As for embalming, rather than my body rotting, I think there’s a greater chance of it becoming rancid. Because of this I have left special instructions for the mortuary after my demise. I would simply like to be covered with a lid, placed in a dark place, and stored at 42 degrees.