Whenever the question of superior intelligence between My Wife and I rears its ugly head, all My Wife has to do is utter those three little words that strikes like a lightening bolt to my male ego, knocking me quickly from King of the Castle to Court Jester.
"Peanut butter crackers," she said quietly, making her point of superiority.
"Aauugh," I cried in my best Charlie Brown voice. "It wasn't my fault there were circumstances." But my pleas fell on deaf ears. Lucy had beaten me, again.
To understand the true meaning of 'Peanut butter crackers' you must go back in time, almost thirteen years, to the birth of my first son.
The doctor had decided to induce labor, estimating the baby to already be about 8 1/2 pounds. So, a little after 6:00 am on this momentous day, My Wife was hooked up to an I.V. and some kind of monitor and the adventure began.
By 1:00 in the afternoon,
I was asking for drugs. It was excrutiating, for me. I kept telling her that 'I felt her pain' everytime she had a contraction but I could tell by the bitter look on her contorted face that she didn't believe me.
Anyway, by 5:00, the doctor decided to stop the drugs that induced contractions and let My Wife rest for the night and begin again in the morning.
My hungry stomach was growling my name and I knew I needed to go home and feed our pets before they ate each other so I asked My Wife if there was anything I could get her.
"Peanut butter crackers," she murmured wearily.
So, I left the hospital to do my chores. When I returned My Wife was happy to see me, she had not eaten since the night before. She was happy, that is, until I handed her the crumpled brown paper bag. Her forehead wrinkled into a frown.
"I didn't know what to put them in," I said defensively.
She slowly opened the bag and pulled out the folded piece of wax paper. Her frown grew into an incredulous scowl as she ever so slowly unfolded the wax paper. I knew something was terribly wrong, the hairs on my neck were standing on end.
"What the hell is this?" she cried, as she stared at the globs of peanut butter stuck to the wax paper with some saltine crackers mixed in.
"Peanut butter crackers," I mumbled. She looked up at me in horror with her mouth hanging open.
"Are you insane?" she said.
"I didn't know how to make them," I cried. "I didn't know how to keep the peanut butter from sticking to the wax paper."
"You couldn't figure out to put a second cracker on top of the peanut butter?" she spoke very slowly so I would understand, "I have seen you eat them before. The little snack packs you get from the convenience store."
And then the light bulb flickered on.
"Oh, you mean peanut butter cracker sandwiches!" I said. "Well, you should have said sandwiches."
"What?! What?! You are unbelievable," she exclaimed (and not in a nice way). "Look at this mess." She shook her head sadly. The saltines looked like little white rafts caught in a brown gooey cesspool.
"I can't help it," I cried. "I'm about to a be a dad for the first time! I don't know what I'm doing! I'm not responsible."
My Wife was unmoved by my heartfelt plea. She just shook her head sadly and stared, mesmerized, at the mess I had made.
Thus, began the saga of 'Peanut Butter Crackers'.
She tells me it still ranks as number one on the list of unbelievable things I have said and done. A list which is ever growing.