Butta

my mom tells this story….
she wakes one night unable to find me in my room. she rushes around the house and finds me (all of 2 years old) in the kitchen. refrigerator door ajar, perched on the counter, snacking on – not animal crackers, not orange goldfish, not even the beloved twinkie – but, a straight outta the box, full stick of butter. (!)
foretelling, much?
and, so my (food-obsessed) story begins.

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