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Subjective Interpretations of Expiration Dates

September 19, 2008

Today, the peanut butter got me. Ten years from now, I’ll start the story of my crazy life like this… “well, you see, about 6 months before my 30th birthday, I happened to glance at a peanut butter jar lid…”

I was just sitting at my desk enjoying the spoils of Autumn in Michigan, a deliciously snappy Honeycrisp apple. A perfect apple paired with peanut butter makes for a sublime mid-morning breakfast. Ask anyone, it’s true. So, I screwed the lid back onto my jar of Kroger Creamy Peanut Butter (made from fresh roasted peanuts, just as tasty as any other brand out there, and it escaped the clutches of the “Great Peanut Salmonella Scare of 2008”) and there I saw it. A sell-by date the likes of which I had never seen. May 7, 2009.

That’s right, the sell date on this peanut butter falls on the same ill-fated date as my 30th birthday. First of all, total bummer for the peanut butter. When the peanut butter’s mother and father sat it down to explain the facts of life (crunchy vs. creamy, supercrunchy vs. goober grape, etc.) they probably did the best they could to protect it’s little ears from the sordid tales of peanut butter “gone bad.” Little guy has to hear it from me. A single woman, mid-midlife-crisis, wearing very old underwear because it’s not like anyone is going to see them anyway.

I have an expiration date.

Do you realize what this means? I have only so long before I go bad! I have a VERY limited time to find a good man, get hitched, travel to Hawaii or Fiji, make 4 babies, develop a lucrative photography career, sign a recording contract, buy my first home and fit into my wedding dress. I really thought I would have to fit into a wedding dress that the super-skinny 23-year-old me wore 7 years ago. I could technically kill two birds with one stone if the wedding thing happens before 31.

These next 6 months and 17 days could be very interesting. And possibly very busy.

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