Battle of the Butter

There is a war currently going on at home and it's not over the usual domestic disturbences: vying for ownership of the remote control, toilet lid up or down, temperature that the thermostat is set to or even if the TP is rolling in the over or under direction. (over just makes more sense) No, this battle is over the location of the butter. Being a creature of habit, I have the same thing for breakfast everyday and part of that breakfast includes a piece of toast. Every morning I open up the fridge - where I'm expecting to find the butter - and every morning I am dissappointed. After grumbling under my breath or making some sort of noise that would universally be categorized as frustrated, (I haven't had any coffee at this point) I make my way over to the far right cupboard, open the right door and - voila! - the butter!! There it is in all it's glory: the green two-toned plastic container of Fleishmann's butter. And snapping off the lid I expect to & do find that half the butter is melted and the other half has that "I've been melted and resolidified too many times to count" look to it. So I butter my toast and throw it back into the fridge - where it belongs.

Every morning I open the fridge because I'm also a creature of optimism and I hope that the enemy has seen the light (literately) and stuck the butter back where it belongs: in a chilled enviroment where butter remains in a solid state, the way it was intended to be. If I look in the cupboard first, then it's a sign that I've given up, I've conceded. I can't expect the butter not to be in the fridge. I haven't figured out exactly who I'm at war with, but rest assured, this is one I will win.