Rambling Wednesdays: Peanut Butter and Jesus.

Skippy

^^THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE?

Is nasty as hell. I cannot fux with this peanut butter and I’m so mad I bought it. I wanted Creamy JIF. Even JIF with peanuts would be almost acceptable in a pinch, but the store was just OUT of JIF. And I was too tired from My Life to walk 10 blocks to the next-closest grocery store to see if they had JIF. So here I go, gettin the Skippy because people like it. I see it at friends’ apartments so I know it’s popular and it must be good.

This was such an important decision in my life, the first thing I did when I walked into my apartment was taste this alien peanut butter. And it tastes like dirt. Skippy tastes like dirt, you guys. And if that’s your favorite and I just offended you, I’m so sorry. And furthermore, I don’t trust you. Because your taste in peanut butter just lied to me, so there’s no telling what other secrets and bad life decisions you’re hiding in the cupboard of your life!

I’m so mad.

But it made me think (after I really did hop on a bus to buy some JIF) and I had to write a little Ramble. I hadn’t planned to write anything else today—I do all of my blogging in the morning before lunch and just let it post every hour until it’s done—but peanut butter is too important to just let this topic sit in my head until next week.

Do you know why I like JIF? Because my momma does. That’s also the reason I like Tide and not Gain. Charmin and not Angel Soft. Dixie Crystals and not Domino. Kraft and not Velveeta. Dawn and not Joy (LOL @ dishwashing liquids sounding like Happy Women).

That’s what I grew up with. A lot of my decisions at the grocery store are made with my mother whispering in my ear and I don’t even realize it. I can try something else, but it doesn’t taste/feel/smell right. That’s not what I know. That is uncomfortable and unfamiliar and my momma’s way is the right way so that’s what I’m gonna buy, even without consciously thinking about that crazy woman.

So yes, Skippy Eaters, your peanut butter tastes like dirt. I don’t understand you or why you like it, but that’s you. I’m not gonna require it to be stricken from the shelves because I don’t like it. And I’m not gonna pretend I’m this amazing person who discovered how great JIF is all on my own, because really, if my momma had eaten Skippy and I had grown up eating it, I would probably be anti-JIF right now.

And that’s what religion is to me.

It’s a set of rules and principles and behaviors that your momma follows, that she made you follow, and that you continue to follow because it’s comfortable and familiar and everything else is crazy because your momma does it the right way. People fail to realize that they are the religion they are because they were born into it. I don’t know the particular percentages, but I doubt more than 20% of Christians converted to it later in life. Their momma was a Christian. They grew up going to church and that’s what they still do. I’m fine with you. Do your whole church thing if it makes you feel good. But don’t act like you’re so enlightened and special, like you came to it all of your own volition. You’d be Jewish right now if your momma had taken you to temple, OK?

And leave me alone. Don’t try to push your “god” on me. I’m not trying to make you eat my peanut butter. I recognize that yours is crazy and I don’t understand it, but you can still eat it. So let me eat mine. There’s room in the store for all different brands of peanut butter. None of them are necessarily better than the others.

We just secretly feel that way because our momma taught us to.