Who doesn’t like butter?
No one, except psychopaths, obviously.
I love butter.
I’m not lying when I tell you if it was socially acceptable to eat a tub of butter in public that I would do it. On a couch, on a mouse, on a house. It doesn’t matter, I’m the fucking Dr. Seuss of butter.
Butter was involved in all meals when I was growing up. My mom is a great cook but due to the strict standard of Irish ancestry, every meal needed to have a starch. It didn’t matter if it was bread or potato it was on the table and you goddamn bet butter was sitting there waiting to be melted on it.
Hell, even pasta was served with butter.
I can still remember the feeling of pure adulation when I saw the blue container with the white frosted plastic cap that protected the stick of butter from fridge debris.
People will argue that stick butter is better than tub butter, but I really don’t give a shit either way. Well, that’s not fair, I had to care to some degree because I remember when our family switched from stick to tub butter. In fact, as a child, I was so attached to stick butter that for some time my mom would buy both stick and tub butter to keep my sister and I happy at the dinner table.
I really had no care in the world what kind of stick butter my mom would buy. I do remember that Breakstone’s was the brand of tub butter that would most frequently occupy our table. That dark, ominous blue carton sat there basically telling you heart disease was in your future.
For the record, anything in tub form isn’t good for you. Maybe that’s why tubby became such a harsh nickname.
One day things changed drastically.
Most children are afraid of things they have no idea about. Ghosts, aliens, adulthood. When I was a kid I had a fear that, as far as I know – and I’m completely open to support groups if they are available, no one else in the world has.
I was afraid of the Land O Lakes lady.
This completely unfounded fear is still a mystery to me. I have zero idea why I was afraid of her, where the fear came from, and why this fear caused me to literally gag at the site of her.
I would sit there and shake with fear. I couldn’t handle the site of her. If the tub was facing me when I sat down I had an existential breakdown that was more confusing than whatever Kurt Vonnegut was trying to get across in Slaughterhouse Five.
I’m proud to say that I’m completely cured of this fear today. The residual effect of this is that my family won’t let me forget that I was scared of a Native American woman sitting holding STICK butter in the middle of a field on the label of a food product.
Hmmmmmm…maybe it’s that I wasn’t scared of her, but that I’m actually scared of terrible, non-sensical design.