And that, my friends, is the deep-voiced voice-over for the movie they'll make about me. Yes, Dear Reader, I am The Butterthief.
I mean, what was I supposed to do? Eat a dry, warm bagel? Sure, if I'm a hobo. But I am NOT a hobo. Seriously. Do you know how many poor souls must be out there on the streets begging innocent breakfast-eaters for deliciously melted butter for their bagel? Well, me neither, but I bet there's a few.
It's not like I haven't thought about bringing in my own butter to the Lab's kitchen. And not that I don't love sharing, but, c'mon. Who's thinking clearly at 6:32am as they stumble through their apartments or mansions or homestays as they perform their morning ablutions on their way out the door?
No One, that's who. I can barely remember to not lock myself out of the house, much less where my keys are.
Though I have taken recently to packing my own lunch and breakfast, how precisely am I supposed to transport butter for my bagel, that won't be toasted for another 47 minutes* (*times are estimates only. Coffee stops, chatting with the security guard, and checking if the cute guy's mail is still in his box--indicating that he's not yet arrived to work--, or bathroom stops not included).
I know what you're thinking, Mom. And this time, I agree that I do have several options:
Option #1: Bite the bullet. Bring in a barrel sized tub of butter to share with the greater New England area.
Option #2: Bite the bagel: Suck it up and eat the dang plain bagel.
Option #3: "Borrow" a pad a butter from the open stick that's already in the fridge AND replace the stick of butter with one of my own. Eventually.
I've actually already tried Option #3 already, but because now there is barely enough left in the cold, soggy wax wrapping from whence it came, I needed an alternative.
I opened up the Lab's fridge, and there, surrounded by a mysterious golden light was a gold-wrapped one-serving pad of land-o-lakes butter that had probably been dumped unceremoniously on the shelf by the same type of person who throws out the thumbnail-sized packets of salt and pepper (each with approximately 3.2 grains of salt or pepper) that come with take-out.
I looked over my shoulder...the coast was clear. And I took it! At the same moment, the toaster dinged, my bagel popped up, my boss walked in, but the damage had been done. I had the golden butter pad packet of goodness in my hand. Victory was mine!
As I spread my winnings across the warm and toast surface of my bagel, my boss poured herself some coffee and we spoke casually about how good it is coming in early and getting a nice and fresh start on the day, how nice the weather has been, and how the research was coming along, then we parted ways.
She really is a wonderful, kind, and smart woman, but I don't think she noticed me eyeing the packet of Smucker's strawberry jam she was holding.
