Two reports on the peanut butter front:
• I just bought this dark chocolate peanut butter at the grocery store. I've had only a taste of it, but it's rather like a mouthful of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in one of those dark chocolate special editions—only in a sandwich-friendly form! I predict this will be a popular jar in our household. The Peanut Butter Co. website's locator function is unaware that their product is sold in my neighborhood Jewel store and not just in wee gourmet groceries. Plebeian Jewel! With fancy peanut butters from Greenwich Village! I love my neighborhood.
• Mr. Tangerine has devised a method to have a little toasted crunch and warmth to a peanut butter sandwich—but without the usual cascade of crumbs. He stacks two slices of bread on the toaster oven rack so that the insides stay soft, flips them over on the plate, puts sandwich fixin's on the toasted surfaces (he likes to combine peanut butter, jelly, and chocolate chips), and smooshes it together. Soft on the outside, toasty on the inside. Fewer crumbs, but just as much dripping of melted peanut butter (that's inescapable even when the PB is refrigerated). Dee-lish!
And from the front lines of the patriarchy battlefield:
• There's nothing like being a bridesmaid to encounter society's expectations for women. I will wear a dress that (a) is expensive, (b) is not terribly likely to find further use, given how seldom I am called upon to attend formal events, (c) needs costly alterations because the sizing is contrived to fit no one without alterations, and (d) will require purchase of a special strapless bra, again unlikely to find much further use. (I love the bride, but not so much bridal traditions.)
And shoes! Must wear girly shoes. [Hardcore shoe rant beginning:] I found a decent pair of sandals at the sort of shoe store that sells a lot of Merrell, Dansko, and Naot shoes. These sandals (Söfft Shoes brand) probably won't be worn too much this summer, but they might get a few extra wearings. Am feeling fortunate that my most persnickety feet did not holler at me when I tried on these sandals and walked around the store for several minutes. Just for the hell of it, I then looked at sandals across the street at Nine West, and OH MY GOD the atrocity! The majority of the sandals had skinny heels or platform/wedge heels measuring upwards of 3 inches. With my feet? I'd require narcotics to handle the pain that would result (and would last for weeks, no joke; you should've seen me last August).
I have no intention of committing fully to the radical feminist agenda (I'll keep my husband, thanks, and will wear lipstick several times a year), but Twisty is dead-on about the traditional trappings of femininity and how they serve to constrain women. I'm sure plenty of you admire Manolo Blahnik heels and like to wear high heels on occasion, but sheesh! Barneys New York sent out a shoe catalog this week that featured strictly high-heeled shoes, with prices ranging from about $450 to $1,200. For non-everyday shoes! If you've got Paris Hilton's millions, fine; but if you're on a budget, spending that kind of money on shoes that can hobble you, that you can't run in, that you won't wear every day, that hurt your feet, instead of plunking that money down for savings (for retirement, for a house, for a nice vacation)—it's nuts.