peanut butter & shark. two great tastes that taste great together. sorta. ok, not really

Nan hooked me up with the mix for these kick ass peanut butter bars from her pantry last week. Yum yum, man! These are damn good stuff! Delish!

As I was baking them Wednesday afternoon, the shark was swarming around me, eager for a snack. I thumped him on the nose several times, trying to shoo him away, pointing out shiny things that might distract him. "Look, Sharky! New toys! Oooo...shiny! Go play, Sharky!"

Normally, the big shark o' the ocean likes to swim and frolic amidst an ever-growing school of giggly krill, but it seemed this day it was all attention on me. Lucky!

"Maybe we could read books until our treats are ready to slice, Sharky," I suggested. "Why don't you go pick a couple out."

Of course, I realized suggesting this might be an exercise in futility, as sharks are notorious non-readers. If you quiz them, they give you just enough information to make you think they read something, but sharks find it hard to read because their fins are busy doing what fins need to do, thus, they can't turn pages. Conundrum! Sharky knows it's OK, though, because the tendency is to feed him the answers he's after. Especially if he flashes you a smile, all shiny teeth and attention.

Sharky swam back up with a book about surviving shark attacks, telling me to check it out. "Ha! Ten true tales of survival" I muttered. "Oh, I bet there are a TON of these survival stories out there!"

Scanning the pages and finding no pictures, I suggested Sharky pick a different book. Because of that whole non-reading thing, pictures really hold Sharky's attention, and we still had some time before our yum yum peanut butter bars cooled.

A few moments later, I heard Sharky chuckling quietly to himself. "Heh, heh, heh." I turned to discover he was looking at pictures of dolphins, glancing at me with a 'knowing' look,' and trying to make out the wordy words in the section titled "Fun and Games."

"Oh, you foolish, foolish shark," I laughed, shaking my head. "I totally see your motive. I know how it is. Sharks are all about about you, you, you when they start playfully bumping you around the ocean with their dorsal fin, but eventually they like to chit chat all about them.

"Do you think my dorsal fin is beautiful? I bet you think my sleek, torpedo-shaped body is hot, don't you? You know I don't have any bones, right? This is all cartilage, baby!"

Oh yeah, it's not one way at all! Riiiight. Sharks. They are such narcissists! Sharky wasted no time proving he's was no exception when, a few moments later, he nipped at my fingers and demanded I turn the pages back to the section on sharks. "Typical," I sighed.

Finally, Sharky could bear it no longer. The succulent smell of peanut butter was filling the air and the demands for a chomp began in an earnest passion that soon lurched into begging. "Gimme a snack! Gimme a snack! I need a snack! Can I have a snack! Feed me the snack! Snack! Snack! Snack! Please, will'ya give me a snack?!" Sharky pleaded.

"Hey, Sharky. Listen. These yum yum bars have peanut butter in them. You've told me sharks don't do peanut butter, remember? You've told me peanut butter is bad for your shiny, sharp teeth. You sure you want to tempt yourself?" I asked. "If you start with just a taste of peanut butter, you're opening a huge can of tuna. Why, you might start looking for people to give you peanut butter all the time! I'm not naive, Sharky. It's out there. I know it!"

"Gimme your peanut butter!" Sharky whispered, the slightest grin spreading across his face. Stunned at Sharky's apparent disregard for our bond when faced with the temptation of all the chunky and smooth peanut butter that's out there in the world, I gave in. "Tell me if you like it, Sharky," I said with barely a trace of resignation in my voice. I'd had it with Sharky. I told him to open his mouth wide and I shoved in the biggest yum yum peanut butter bar I could down his throat.

"That's so good, isn't it, Sharky?" I asked. Sharky nodded. "Goddamn girl! These are great. You're quite the cook! When I'm not here, I may want these again. Are these sold anywhere? Say, do you have any coffee?" he asked, then beat his fin on the counter, indicating he craved more (I don't lie, so when I tell you these peanut butter bars courtesy of Nan are delish, they are, as described, kick ass!). He downright shoved my treats into his gullet. You'd think he'd have gotten tired of eating so much, but apparently sharks are notorious for gorging and then going back for more, unable to accept their reality. Stunned, I could only watch this train wreck and ask, "That's just what you wanted, wasn't it?" Sharky couldn't answer. By then his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and the fact that he just then realized he had been existing outside a body of water for the better part of forever sent his body flailing around the kitchen. Helpless (and, huh, a little less than sympathetic) I watched Sharky flip and twist, making a mess of the place.

Hours (and hours) later, this was what remained of Sharky and the pan of peanut butter bars. Was it worth it? Well, only Sharky can say for sure, but clearly he's not talking. "Whatever," I say. He new the deal when he suddenly switched from being a blood thirsty carnivore to a sweet treat eating psycho shark, so clearly, I've little sympathy for the damage done. Oh sure, you could argue that I caved and fed his sweet tooth. I'm sure I wasn't the first. He'd dipped that sleek shark skin other places before settling at mine. And I know I wouldn't have been the last. In the end, sometimes sharks get what they deserve.