Buttered Popcorn

Popcorn is one of my all time favorite naughty treats.  The more butter the better, and I like it with salt or sugar. I like it steamy fresh or cold.  These little nuggets of pure happiness are partially to blame for why I will continue to exercise my @$$ off.  Mini bites of buttery Heaven.  The exercise must be done because I don’t want to be the size of a barn! A small outbuilding, perhaps, but not a barn.  Side note: Another positive of exercise I have found, I can get in touch with my inner person, or at the bare minimum, hold a board style meeting with all the little voices. 

Also please note, eating popcorn while running is counterproductive, but fun.. Yup I have done this, and wish I had a camera to freeze forever the odd looks people freely gave me for doing something out of the norm.

But this little ditty is so not about my love of popcorn.  It is about a very close friend of mine.  Her nickname is Butter.  Yes, it is due in part to her excessive love of buttered popcorn.  More specifically her love of the micro-waved bag kind of popcorn.

Where I am employed they sell popcorn to raise money to throw small positive energy boosting parties.  My co-workers all love it and it is a good way to escape the daily humdrum.  My office is beside the other person of equal status.  I was trying to communicate to her some vital information and she was simply replying with mmmhmmm, uh-uh, hmmmmm, and uhu…To say the least I was very annoyed.  My back had been to her the entire time.  I had been searching a cupboard in our hallway for a specific document.   It is then I exasperatedly turn around to give her tongue lashing on her oh so not helpful input.  

The site I encounter is one burned into my mind for all time.  All I can do is laugh.  I am laughing so hard now no sound is coming out of me.  The co-worker was speaking to me in the language of popcorn-bag-butter-licking!  Her face was in a bag, all that was exposed was her eyeballs, which looked like a frightened raccoon.  This woman had the paper bag torn down the seam licking every last once of butter and salt off it.  I had never in my life seen such a thing, let alone a co-worker, a grown woman at work!!!

She was frozen, wide eyed and unable to explain herself. She stuttered a few words about she didn’t think I would actually enter her office, and please don’t say anything.  But, this was too good.  I had to share with the others.  And I did, and I officiated her re-naming to Butter.  

I think the more amusing thing was when I told my young nephew why we call her Butter.  He smiled and said “Well she should have ripped it up in smaller pieces so she got every little part.  That’s what I do!”  He then very seriously instructed me to make sure I told her not to lick the bag I was taking home to give her the next day, for it is coming from the fair and she did not want those extra flavors! HAHAHA