I love peanut butter. No, really. I loooooove it. It's seriously an addiction, one of my downfalls. I've been known to eat it straight from the container - heck, I've been known to eat a whole container, never once putting the contents on bread or any other delivery mechanism - save a spoon.
Today, though? Today may have set the tides of my love a'turning.
Earlier this week, my students wrote a procedural-text, explaining to the reader (ahem: me) how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Today, I tested their instructions. I had all the ingredients necessary, and had each student read his/her essay aloud as I followed the instructions written (and ONLY those instructions written).
Needless to say, it was a hilarious class time. We laughed a lot, and not many of my students received a complete sandwich.
But now...now I'm finding peanut butter under my fingernails...and in my hair...and behind my ears. I'm not even sure HOW peanut butter got behind my ears; I'm actually afraid to think too much about it (I do promise you that all behavior was appropriate...well, save the sticking my hands into tubs of peanut butter and jelly).
Oh, peanut butter. I'll miss you. But for right now, I'm not sure I can handle this love affair...
Showing posts with label I'm grossed out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I'm grossed out. Show all posts
December 9, 2010
August 16, 2010
What Do I Keep You Around For, Then??
Dear Four-Legged, Furry Bug Catchers,
I thought we had an agreement. I will provide you with a warm place to live, enough kibble (and that stinky, gross, slimy, wet stuff that makes your poop stink), always give you fresh water, not to mention a fluffy pillow on the window seat, and will pet you whenever the whim hits you (especially at 4:00AM), and you will make sure the house is bug free.
You have not lived up to your end of the agreement. I know you THINK you have, but the fuzzy, ginormous, eight-legged THING on top of the refrigerator proves you wrong. Oh, you can start in on the whole, "I can't jump up on the counter" argument, but we all know you can. You can also begin the, "I'm not ALLOWED to jump up on the counter" argument, but if you refer back to the conversation we had when we moved into this apartment in June of 2005, you will be reminded of the fact that all rules in regards to felines-on-counters are null and void when it comes to spiders.
It's big, and it's fuzzy, and I can see its eyes. ALL OF THEM.
We really, really must review who is in charge around here...
(Exerting my dominance is a bit tough when they're so cute...plus, they have claws...)
I thought we had an agreement. I will provide you with a warm place to live, enough kibble (and that stinky, gross, slimy, wet stuff that makes your poop stink), always give you fresh water, not to mention a fluffy pillow on the window seat, and will pet you whenever the whim hits you (especially at 4:00AM), and you will make sure the house is bug free.
You have not lived up to your end of the agreement. I know you THINK you have, but the fuzzy, ginormous, eight-legged THING on top of the refrigerator proves you wrong. Oh, you can start in on the whole, "I can't jump up on the counter" argument, but we all know you can. You can also begin the, "I'm not ALLOWED to jump up on the counter" argument, but if you refer back to the conversation we had when we moved into this apartment in June of 2005, you will be reminded of the fact that all rules in regards to felines-on-counters are null and void when it comes to spiders.
It's big, and it's fuzzy, and I can see its eyes. ALL OF THEM.
We really, really must review who is in charge around here...
(Exerting my dominance is a bit tough when they're so cute...plus, they have claws...)
