I think I’m addicted
to my little white pill and my half a peanut butter sandwich. Peanut
butter....should be spelled, peanutbutter, one word...its sticky and crunchy,
ofcourse ofcourse...the nuts have to crunch, what's the point of peanutbutter
without those little nuttynut crunches?
The pill can only be taken with chunkypeanutbutter..one word....chunkypeanutbutter...it's a rule, my rule. The little white pill has to, must, absolute irrevocably, stick to the yummychunkypeanutbutter - a must...if it doesn't stick, I get sick.
Ofcourse, ofcourse, I would prefer the yummychunkypeanutbutter on the kind of bread that sticks to the roof of your mouth, but healthy habits dictate a wheat bread...a little dry, at times, but I overlook these minor issues while absorbed in the rapture that only Skippy can offer a crazed woman in love with yummychunkypeanutbutter at midnight can be...so, now you see? Love comes in all shapes, sizes, tastes and textures.
One mustn’t give into a second class early morning/late night addicting love.....first and foremost, keep milk or water at bedside....I prefer water to enhance the release of those little bits of chunky nut from between my teeth...a nut second helping is cool at 2 in the morning.
So let’s hear it for a second feature...a last hurrah...wide screen crescendo, an overture with each teeny-tiny-bite, sailing me off into dreams that stick to my ribs, and into a nutty-love, counting those little dancing peanuts in a delightful way - a Skippidydooda flight....and to all a good nightynite….
