Timothy Rebhorn lives and works in Ashtabula, Ohio. He is proudly in a committed relationship with salt.
Dear Peanut Butter that I grind myself in one of those really loud machines in the bulk sections of health food stores,
This is so hard for me to write.
I know I said it was you and me forever.
I know I said that I’d never go back to that corn syrup filled peanut butter in that giant plastic tub from the supermarket.
But yesterday I was at work outing and they only had PB&J’s for lunch. Something about a veggie option that everyone could eat. I tried to hold off until I got home, but we were doing trust exercises and I got really hungry.
And it was so good.
That’s when I realized that it’s over between us.
You were good for me and for that I thank you, but you taste like slightly damp nothing.
Please show yourself to the compost bin.
Dear Peanut Butter in that gigantic plastic tub in the supermarket,
This has been a crazy three weeks.
You remain the best I’ve ever had.
But I have to be honest with myself.
I’ve gained ten pounds, my hands won’t stop shaking, I’m constantly scanning the kitchen for any kind of peanut butter delivery device. Do you taste good on the orange rind I salvaged from the compost bin? Yes you sure do.
I’m sure this will hurt me more than it hurts you, but we can do this anymore. I have to stop and rebuild the respect I once had for myself.
I guess I have to learn to live in a world without Peanut Butter.
Please just go. I’m not even going to rinse and recycle your jar, just get right in the trash.
Maybe just one last spoonful.
It was you all along.
I can’t believe it took me until now to see it.
It’s not the peanut. It’s not the corn syrup. It’s you.
All I needed to do was walk past those really loud machines, look next to that giant plastic tub and find the peanut butter with only you added.
This is the most adult relationship I’ve ever had.
I am totally committed to this.
I love you, salt.