Butterboobs

Curtis and I have this ongoing ... butter battle, for lack of a better explanation. See, I love me some REAL butter. Not margarine. Not canola spread. Not I-Can't-Believe-It's-a-Yellowish-Semi-Butter-Like-Concoction-in-a-Plastic-Tub. But real, honest to goodness, comes-from-a-cow butter.

"It doesn't spread," Curtis always complains. And I'll grudgingly admit that he does have a point there - I mean, straight out of the fridge, butter isn't exactly the right consistency to slather on a piece of bread. But real butter is just soooo much better that who even cares about that small and insignificant detail?

My husband does. Apparently enough to gripe about it every. single. time we have biscuits or toast or whatever else requires butter. So -  to a.) avoid having to hear it, and b.) take away his chief complaint, therefore proving that butter is indeed superior and that I WIN - I always lay out a stick to soften if I know we're going to need it.

Except for the other night.

I made chili and cornbread. And forgot to lay out the butter to soften beforehand. And everybody knows that if you try to spread cold butter on cornbread? It will totally disintegrate. Curtis would have reason to snark, "See? Told you we should have bought the spreadable kind." It was our last stick, and I didn't want to risk putting it in the microwave and inadvertantly melting it - but dinner was nearly upon us. What to do?

My lightening-fast intellect came up with a solution. This. 

You got a better butter-softening tool, I'd like to hear about it. I mean, come on. This is PERFECT! Portable, accessible, and the butter gave way to a nicely spreadable consistency in minutes.

Again: I WIN. 

This got chalked up as totally normal in my book. But Curtis had to take a picture, and insisted I blog about it to show the world what a ridiculous weirdo I actually am. Hmmph. He may call it weird, but I call it ingenious.

Potato, po-tah-to.