Deep Thoughts

I love butter.

I schmear it on bread, lather it on pasta, and use it without abandon when making pancakes with the crispiest of edges.

But the thought of taking a bite straight off the stick makes me a bit squeamish.

My baby, on the other hand, loves it.

She requests it by name.

“Bubba! Bubba!”

I point to the strawberries.

She shakes her head no.

I point to the apples.

Again, no.

Out of desperation, I point to the sour cream.

“No!”

Ok, butter it is.

Hey, at least it’s grass-fed.