Kurt and I ran across perhaps the grossest thing to hit the food market in the history of the United States. We were in a local grocery store last night that caters to the health food nut and the gourmand, looking for a paste made from hot Thai peppers that Kurt had had at the Thai restaurant, when suddenly we were confronted by this horror of ingestible material. They had a display of the new flavors of Mike and Ike’s — cherry cola, which is acceptable, and buttered popcorn, which is NOT, and is the horror of which I’ve been speaking.
I guess somewhere along my sophomore year of college is where I developed my abhorrence of all things having to do with microwaved buttered popcorn. It seemed that that year, all the girls on my hall pretty much subsisted on buttered popcorn, and living in the basement, the smell of it, drifting throughout the length of the hall, lingered for far too long. My roommate that year also had a penchant for the disgusting stuff, causing our room to smell almost constantly of it.
Fortunately, my roommate for my junior and senior years understood my aversion to the stuff and tried her best not to make it while I was home.
Unfortunately, Kurt loves buttered popcorn. The more butter, the better. And so he really likes the new Mike and Ike’s buttered popcorn flavor, while I was trying my best not to gag as I drove down the road, inhaling the salty butter smell emanating from the innocent-looking box.
I mean, I do like popcorn. Air-popped popcorn, with real butter drizzled over it, and a bit of salt, is good stuff. Kettle corn is my favorite — popped in oil, with a bit of salt and sugar shaken over the popped kernels, without butter. You just can’t get better than the duel between the salt and the sugar in kettle corn. Or even, just air-popped popcorn with a little salt, no butter. I suppose that would be really good too. Just not microwaved buttered popcorn.
Luckily, our house came with a built-in microwave above the range/oven. So the microwave that my mother bought me for my college graduation is set up in the garage — just so Kurt can pop his popcorn to his heart’s content and keep the stench contained.
I know — I have the weirdest aversions.
Speaking of my house, yes, we are finally ensconced in our very own home here in Washington State. It’s a lovely little home, a little smaller than we’d hoped for, but houses are so very pricey here. It’s two bedrooms with one bath, a kitchen with dining area, a living room, and garage. That’s the whole house. But all our stuff fits pretty well in it, and the house is built on a large double lot. Our backyard is kind of small because the neighbor’s house is on a cul-de-sac, and her front yard actually butts up to our backyard. But we also have a HUGE sideyard, and both the backyard and the sideyard are fenced in separately. The sideyard is perfect for a garden, and already has a couple of apple trees, a pear tree, and raspberry bushes. The backyard slopes uphill pretty sharply in the back corner, and there we have a HUGE evergreen tree (about 100 feet tall) that has a treehouse built in its shelter.
I don’t think it’s quite sunk in that we OWN this house, that we’re not obligated to anyone for it, and that we can do whatever we feel like to it without asking permission first. But it feels good!!! :o)