Working from home gives me a certain flexibility and with the stunningly patient SML picking up more hours now in her role as dental assistant, I'm trying to carry more of the load at home. So today after mowing through the last of the leftover wheat pasta, I set about to do the dishes. Thought it would be nice for the stunningly patient SML to NOT come home to a pile. And that's when it happened. The gross out. Face to face with a knife covered in that which grosses me out more than anything. This:
My mortal enemy
Peanut butter. My Kryptonite. This knife was slathered in it from one of the kid's breakfast. I approached that knife like it was radioactive, because to me, the junk is toxic. I gingerly put it under the stream of hot water, which was a mistake. The smell of the wet peanut butter nearly sent me into convulsions of dry heaves. And that stupid peanut butter was not coming off that knife. So I upped the water pressure and nothing - it was like the SuperGlue peanut butter. There was no way I was touching it to scrape it off. That's how fierce my repulsion is - the thought of touching it is crippling. And to heck with water conservation...at this point I was prepared to let the water run full blast, draining the whole of Lake Michigan, to get that knife semi-cleaned off so I could toss it in the dishwasher. I finally grabbed a fork that was in the sink and used it to scrape off the offending substance. Man, I hate peanut butter. Just writing about it now makes me nauseous. Seriously.
I don't even want to explore why I have such an aversion to the stuff. I just do. I will continue to be crippled by it. If a jar of peanut butter was the difference between me and starvation, I'd choose starvation. And with that, reliving this afternoon's disabling encounter has me exhausted. I'm done. I'm going to bed.