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alloverthegaf:

even-and-auds:

alloverthegaf:

Seduce me with hilariously awkward stories from your life

Oh have I got one for you.

So, I grew up in a financially strapped household with lots of kids. So we were always buying in bulk. Cheap bulk. It lead to us getting things like this, a 6 lb can of cheap peanut butter:

Now, we’d always had this in the house since a main staple was PB toast, PB sandwich (no J sometimes cause we didn’t have it) and just spoonfuls of PB to help with acid reflux, sore throats, quick snack or just a way to keep 4 hyperactive kids quiet for a few minutes in the same manner of watching a dog lick the roof of it’s mouth for a while after giving it a glob of the PB.

Ever since I was about 6 or 8, I’ve always had a certain urge every time I saw a brand new can of this opened (Which was roughly once every two months) and that was to just shove my whole arm into the can. At that age, it would have easily gone up to my elbow. I don’t know why I felt this urge, but I did. Luckily, I suppressed it….Until I was 14.

I’m 14, home alone after school and making some PB toast for a snack when lo and behold…I get to peel open a brand spanking new can and mar up that perfectly smooth surface. This was a rare occurrence and I wanted to savor it. What would I write in it with the knife for the next person to find? Do I try to carve something into it? Then I remembered my childhood urge of wanting to just shove my arm into it.

I do it. I don’t point my fingers to make it easy, no, it’s open palm hand print with fingers splayed as I shove my hand into a cardboard can full of 6 lbs of PB and it is glorious. I didn’t care that physics dictates that stuff and mass means that PB was being pushed up and out. It was fairly viscous and stuck mostly to my exposed arm. I got almost all of my forearm in this and wiggled my fingers. I pulled my arm out and looked at the massive blob of PB and giggled thinking of the old classic movie “The Blob”. I didn’t use a knife and just rubbed the toast on my PB gauntlet and that’s when I heard it…

A key unlocking the front door.

OH SHIT. I was scrambling to get my hand back in the can to scrape off the mass of peanut butter and clean up this mess. I don’t register the multiple voices until I hear my mom call my name and I look up. She was standing there with her friends that she had invited over looking at her eldest and first born, 14 year old, 3.5 GPA rocking daughter trying to scrape 6 lbs of PB off her arm and into a can. 

There was no talking my way out of this or explaining any of it. We stared at each other for what must have been a solid minute before she just guided her friends out of the kitchen and left me to finish cleaning up my mess.

We stopped buying the 6lb cans of peanut butter after that.

WHY DIDN’T I SEE THIS ONE EARLIER