Yesterday Deputy Dad and I ate lunch together. Without the kids. At a restaurant. With waitresses. And menus. And fresh flowers on the tables. And no drive-thru. And did I mention WITHOUT THE KIDS? (As Mouse would say, “R yew jillis?”)

Now. Where was I? Oh, yes. So we had a nice lunch together, just the two of us, WITHOUT THE KIDS, at the lovely little pasta place in town, which is run by ACTUAL ITALIAN people who know how to cook ACTUAL ITALIAN food, which is a rare find in an itty-bitty Texas town such as ours.

I had a yummy chicken sub, but I only ate half of it because I WANTED SOME DESSERT, DAMMIT, I NEVER ORDER DESSERT AND TODAY I JUST WILL, THANKYOUVERYMUCH. I had some oh-so-delicious cheesecake, with chocolate syrup. (Now I KNOW yew R jillis.) Say it with me, now….cheeeeeeesecake…..choooooocolate syyyyyyrup…..cheeeeeeeesecake…..

Oh, dear. I’ve lost my train of thought again.

Oh, yes. So I saved the other half of my sandwich for today, since I almost always work through lunch. I also saved the last couple of slices of the delicious hot bread they serve as an appetizer there.

I heated up my leftovers today, and when I started buttering the leftover bread (yes, of COURSE I grabbed the foil-topped plastic packs of butter to go with my leftover bread….what am I, stupid?), I noticed the butter’s packaging……

European Style Butter Blend

Now, my question is this: What exactly are the Europeans blending into my butter? Hmm?


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