Gnats and Peanut Butter

Tonight, after a quiet evening reading and drinking green tea with honey and lemon

(grandmotherly I know. But still, these biddies are onto something),

I sat my mug down on the counter with the last sip of the honey-goldened brew coating the bottom.

I have a gnat infestation.

Disgusting, I know.  

They have emerged in droves, much like during the plagues of Egypt, from my staghorn fern.

My leftover tea is the perfect trap to catch them.

They fly right in at their own peril and drown themselves—except for the peppermint one. I don’t think they like it.

Anywho—

So, there I was in the kitchen, surrounded by gnat tea trap mugs (gag), when I looked up on my fridge and spied a small heaven—

a jar of peanut butter.

I’m going to have a spoonful of you, because I deserve it, I thought.

And I do,

so I did.

(I think one says such things when they’re the lord and master of their own castle—or anytime really.)

It was delicious.

And that’s it.

It really is the small things, huh?

Night.