Advice Part 78- Peanut butter trouble

Through long and arduous years of careful and well-thought out research, I have reached the following conclusion- I have what could best be described as "a bit of a problem" with peanut butter.

Or, more precisely, I have an addiction so bad that even writing this post is causing the craving centre of my brain to go into peanut butter hunting overdrive.

My advice to young players is that if you have an addiction similar to mine, it is of UTMOST importance to ensure that anyone who you are sharing a house with is aware of your issue. Otherwise, domestic disharmony is bound to ensue.

How do I know this? Read on....

A few years ago, at the ripe old age of 26, I finally took wing from the parental nest, and moved into a house in Annandale. I was sharing with a lady who I'll refer to as Scarlett, who worked part-time in a record store.

In the interests of appearing sane, I decided to withhold from Scarlett that whilst I can resist chocolate, cheese, potato chips, and other guilty pleasure foods, I am POWERLESS when faced with the lure of a nice fresh jar of peanut butter, just waiting to be devoured with a spoon.

MMMMMM!!!!!!

Scarlett also liked peanut butter. But not as much as me. She kept a little jar in the fridge (mad, I know), and would sporadically enjoy a spread on toast.

This almost killed me.

So, one day (and I'm not proud of this, might I just add), I decided to "have a little taste" of the contents of the jar. And, needless to say, the ENTIRE JAR soon disappeared down the proverbial plughole.

Oh. Dear.

Realising that I'd stuffed up big time, I made a dash to the shop, where I hastily purchased a replacement jar for the fridge. But as the original jar was half empty, I had to eat half of the replacement jar, too, in order to ensure that my bad food stealing behaviour went unnoticed.

I thought I had done pretty well with the job.

But obviously not well enough, as Scarlett IMMEDIATELY spotted the ruse. Apparently, the surface of the peanut butter was really smooth, showing it had been eaten with a spoon, rather than roughly stirred up, as it would have been if the consumer (I use the word intentionally) had used a knife.

Caught.

I was absolutely mortified, and resolved NEVER to touch her peanut butter again. Which was easier said than done, let me assure you.

But I think that if I ever have to share a house again, I am going to stipulate that any potential co-tenants be allergic to peanuts.....