“It’s a corn butter spreader,” she said. 20 and I looked incredulous.
“A what?” We squinted, as if squeezing our eyes might produce a sharper image. As if recognition was produced by wrinkling our faces.
“She’s pulling our leg,” 20 suggested. I nodded. She is well-known for too-easily pulling-the-wool-over-our eyes. 20 and I are gullible and easy marks for her shenanigans. I appreciated 20’s suggestion that between us he and I had only one leg to pull. Unintentional admission of our shared wit-less-ness.
“Noooo!” she protested. “Haven’t you ever seen one of these?” We shook our heads. Wary. Smelling a trap. “It’s a corn butter spreader!” She insisted. 20 and I stood our ground of solid disbelief.
“Look,” she huffed, scooping butter into the contraption, lowering the press arm, she ran the device over a hot cob of corn. Like an indignant Vanna White, she finished her demonstration and thrust the gadget toward us proclaiming, “Corn-Butter-Spreader!”
20 whispered, “She might be telling the truth.”
“This time,” I mumbled. Now, she was squinting at me though I doubt her squint was intended to sharpen my image.
“Use it!” she glared at 20 who promptly obeyed, deftly spreading butter on his corn.
“Hey!” he smiled. “Who knew! This thing works. There’s a tool for everything!” he double buttered his corn. “Do you want to try it?” he asked.
“I’m a purest,” I said. “I like mine without butter.”
“Too bad,” he said, triple buttering his corn. “This is fun.” He turned to Kerri asking, “When were you going to tell us about this?” He looked at me, puzzled, “Why does she always keep things from us?”
read Kerri’s blog post about CORN BUTTER SPREADERS
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