Do you ever get really carried away eating a delicious savory snack, consume four or five times as many servings as you had planned, and then wish you had never been born afterward? I just did. My poison? Quaker Rice Crisps, ranch flavored. “MMMmmm, these are delicious!” I chommed, shoveling the crunchy, ranchy mini rice cakes into my mouth. About six minutes into my binge, I regretted my behavior. My stomach was unhappy with me. I will smell like artificial ranch dressing flavoring for at least two more days. Not ideal.
A few weeks ago while the husband and I were out grocery shopping, I hesitated when he suggested we purchase a jar of peanut butter the size of my head.
64 ounces. Sixty-four ounces of thick, creamy, fattening peanut butter. What kind of person actually needs that much peanut butter at one time? I would have to include this tub of PB in my will and leave the remaining two pounds of it as part of my inheritance when I die, because there’s no way I’ll ever plow through this thing before my death. It just seemed really overboard, and terribly unnecessary. Or so I thought. Just today, only three weeks after its purchase, I was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (as I do every day) when I scraped the bottom of the jar with my spatula spreader. “How is this possible?” I was shocked.
You’re always hesitant to purchase things like this in economy/bulk sized portions, because at the time, it seems so ridiculous. Who eats 64 ounces of Jif? It’s almost embarrassing to make that sort of purchase. But then you do. You plunk it down in your kitchen cupboard and roll your eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking getting this tub of peanut butter; I’ll never finish it.” But then you do. And you’re shocked.
“What’s your IQ?”