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Wednesday, February 7th, 2007

Skippy Beats The Pants Off Jif

I was at Safeway doing some grocery shopping the other evening, sashaying down the peanut butter and jelly aisle, doing my normal peanut butter and jelly thing. I was on autopilot --my typically distracted state... brain awash in advertising-driven cult-behavior. Just another pawn in the grocery game.

My internal conversation went something like this:

JOHN TO HIMSELF: "Lookin' for my Jif... Lookin' for my Jif... Lookin' for my... Wait a minute. Look at that jar of Skippy. It's so goofy man. Who are they kiddin'? What kind of shit is that? Does that peanut butter have ANY dignity at all? Any scrap of self-respect? I mean... "Skippy"? Even the name sounds... flippant... low brow. But... I dunno. I've spent a lot of years with Jif -- most of my life. Who's to say Jif is better? And besides, Jif's been staying late at work a lot lately... And honestly, our sandwiches haven't had the same... EXCITEMENT that they used to have. Maybe I could..."

And I did it.

I went crazy-off-the-deep-end-call-a-therapist-fucking-nuts. I lost it. I took a risky risk. I grabbed a jar of Skippy like a pissed Iraqi grabs an AK. I just did it. I dropped that jar of Skippy into my cart like I just didn't care. Yeh. I did. (I choose creamy, by the way. So smooth... so right) It was like stepping off a cliff... total free fall for a second...

The next day, when my normal jonesing for a PB&J hit maximal levels... I wandered into the kitchen like a junkie and got out my works: plate, knife, whole wheat bread, glass, milk, strawberry preserves, and... WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? Skippy? Oh yeh... This better not screw up my PB&J fix, man.

Well, I unscrewed the top -- skeptical and a little scared. (As a man, I can admit that I was scared.) I peeled back the foil seal -- they take their peanut butter freshness seriously. Good sign. I dipped a single fingertip into that swirl of creamy Skippy peanut butter and brought it to my mouth for a little tastey test.

Holy shit.

Can this be? What the fuh..? I repeated the act, in disbelief. Same result: a cloud of buttery loveliness descended onto my palette, producing wave after wave of peanut satisfaction the likes of which I can honestly say this Southern boy hath not experienced. It was a watershed moment.... a tipping point. Unforeseen vistas opened up before me. Suddenly it felt as if literally anything was possible. "Is this a one-time euphoria -- some cheap thrill -- or perhaps a permanent UPWARD adjustment to my happiness baseline", I asked myself? I knew the answer even before I asked the question... This is love.

But then that old spoiler, Regret, slouched into the kitchen... "I feel like I've wasted so many years... with Jif." I imagine this is what a divorcee feels like when she finally meets her TRUE love -- after a mundane and lifeless first marriage. "Jif, you can keep the house. You can have the car. Take the 401K. I've met Skippy. And I finally know what real happiness is. What we had together was... adequate. But we both deserve better."
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So there you have it. I'm a Skippy man now. I can't tell you what to do. I not going to try and pull you into my Skippy gig. This isn't Amway. You've got to cut your own path... find your own way. This is just right for me. I took a risk, and it paid off.

Things like this probably happen every day.

Posted By John Common at: 12:02 am 1 Comment

John

June 16th, 2010 11:42 am

I still love SKIPPY.

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Wednesday, February 7th, 2007

Skippy Beats The Pants Off Jif

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