On peanut butter and sexuality

Anyone who's ever lived with me can attest that when I'm training for something, I eat. A lot. Like, it's kind of sick (but also pretty awesome, don't get me wrong). One day while I was training for my last marathon, I was sitting on the couch with my hand deep in a box of Cheerios, ready to eat my umpteenth handful. My old roommate/best friend (we'll call her Miller Time for these purposes) looked at me and said "Every time I look at you, you're eating." I didn't know if I was being judged, and therefore didn't know how to react. So I said what any normal person would say in that circumstance: "I'm hungry!" And then I continued eating cereal right from the box.

Besides cereal, one thing I eat a lot of is peanut butter (and those of you who paid attention to the Van Ness run probably noted that I have a thing for Taco Bell. Don't judge). Anyway, peanut butter. It's delicious, it goes on a lot of things, and if you buy the kind with lower sugar it's actually fairly healthy. I started eating peanut butter as athletic fuel in college, when we would go to Florida for training trips, and we would pack five girls in a van with like eight jars of peanut butter for the week. I usually buy the organic, natural kind that you have to keep in the fridge so it doesn't separate into peanut paste and oil (or as I like to call it, nut fat). That's really a pain in the ass, but for some reason it makes me feel better...it's probably the lack of saturated fats. Or clever marketing.

But none of this is the point of this post. The point is simply to share with you the childishly disturbing label on my current jar of peanut butter. Maybe I am just too impressed with my own devastating good looks, but I swear the bear on my peanut butter is trying to seduce me (I'm not even going to delve into the fact that my peanut butter has a bear on it. Dear peanut butter: you're not honey!). I've had several people in my office weigh in on this, and the jury's technically hung, but Miller Time agrees with me, for what it's worth. I warn you, if you still love Care Bears (but not in THAT way) or if you still squeeze Teddy Ruxpin in your arms at night, maybe don't look at this.

Hey there, gorgeous