Dear Beyonce and writers of the “Bootylicious” song,
I’m writing to say “Thank you.” Because of your song, “Bootylicious”, I am able to make my mornings great while annoying my son and husband at the same time.
How is this?
My son loves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. LOVES them. Have a I mentioned he’s a lazy lunch packer and prefers it when I make his sandwiches as they “taste better.”
I’m to the point I really don’t like packing lunch some days and have been known to feign sleep so the hubby will pack lunch. I can deal with his grunts and audible eye roll as I listen to the morning show at my favorite local radio station.
This morning, I had to pack lunch. Imagine me, bedraggled, bleary eyed, with hair a hot mess, desperate for a cup of coffee when inspiration struck!
I broke into song, Destiny’s Child style. As I looked down at the slice of whole wheat bread smeared with Jif Naturals Peanut Butter, wondering what it was really like to forever be associated with the sweet tang of grape jelly, I wondered if the humble Peanut was happy about this culinary schmear beloved by little kids the world over.
And so, I serenaded the bread and peanut butter, wiggling my ass and holding my hair out, as if I had a fan blowing it in the come hither style of all video vixens:
“I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly
I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly
I don’t think you’re ready for this
‘Cause my body’s too bootylicious for ya babe”
While I don’t think my son hates me, he’s convinced I’m more twisted then color tv. (Cue the baltent pop culture reference to Steel Magnolias.)