You Know Those Times When You’re Talking to Yourself Out Loud?
I blame Fabio and “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter”
I pushed the plate displaying the offending sandwich back across the table with the tip of my finger. “It’s not butter,” I said.
Melinda shook her head and gave the sandwich a return serve in my direction. “You can’t say that until you’ve tried it. You’ll be amazed. Astounded. Mystified. You really won’t believe it’s not butter.”
I batted the sandwich right back. “Is it because of Fabio? The ad? Is that the attraction?”
Melinda’s cheeks flushed a light shade of pink.
“I knew it!” I waggled my finger in her direction. “You got sucked in by the advertising.”
“Yes,” Melinda admitted, “but then I really couldn’t believe it wasn’t butter. So now I buy it because it’s good. Just try it. You’ll see.”
My brows furrowed, and I gave her my best Marge Simpson impersonation. “Mmm.”
I picked up the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully.
When I swallowed, Melinda pounced, “See! It’s good. I bet you can’t tell it’s not butter.”
“I’m still not convinced,” I frowned but ate the rest of my sandwich, anyway.
I spied the sale tag in the butter section while doing my weekly shopping. I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter was on special—$1.79 for TWO tubs. My regular go-to butter-like spread was $1.49.
I faced a dilemma. I’ve inherited two things from my Pop. His bushy eyebrows and his love of a good bargain. My Pop was notorious for bargain hunting — even better if he scored something for free. Each time he’d take a load of rubbish to the tip, he’d come back with a load of stuff he’d ‘discovered.’ Fix me up projects, things that might come in handy one day, all sorts of bits and bobs. You name it; he’d found it for free or got it for a song. His garden shed and two workrooms had all been bursting at the seams.
And so, my internal debate started.
If I get the regular stuff, it’s $1.49. One tub. Not a great deal. But If I get I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, I get TWO tubs for 30c more. Plus that free book with Fabio on the cover. Sure it’s a romance book, but everyone’s allowed to have a guilty pleasure, right? And besides, Gran can read the book when I’m done. She loves those books. The important detail here is ‘free book.’
But Melinda will crow. She’ll find out somehow. She always does. She’ll claim victory. She’ll say she converted me. But she knows I like a good bargain. I don’t think a super fabulous deal will wash as a reason. She’ll definitely crow.
Ohhhhh, look, there’s a competition to meet Fabio. Not that I want to meet Fabio. Not my type. But two tubs of ‘not butter,’ a book, and competition is a pretty good deal. Even if I don’t want to enter the competition, it adds value. This is a win, win. I mean, it’s not like I was using actual butter to start with.
I waved my hand towards my usual tub of margarine. The lady next to me started laughing. “I think you should pick the best buy,” she said.
I’d been talking to myself, out loud, outside my head the entire time.
I grabbed my two tubs of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, my free book, my competition entry form and made a quick getaway.
“Can you grab Jarryn a juice from the fridge, please?” I called out to Melinda.
Then I remembered. There was still a tub of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter in there. “Nevermind,” I called out — but it was too late. Melinda was pawing through the fridge. She emerged, victorious with a maniacal smile holding the tub of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.
“Well, well, well. I converted you, after all. I TOLD you it was good.”
“No!” I held my index finger up in the air. “Hold that thought. It was super special, and I don’t like it enough to buy it again. Unless, of course, it’s on super-duper special.”
“Uh-uh,” Melinda waggled her finger in my direction. “I. Converted. You.” She tapped the lid of the tub to emphasize her point.
“It came with a book,” I insisted. “It’s all about the book. I don’t even like the ‘not butter.’ It tastes weird.”
“I. Won.” Melinda flounced off to give Jarryn his juice and crow for the rest of the afternoon.
The emails started arriving the next day. Julie was the first to congratulate me on my conversion. Several more emails followed from other friends. Then Melinda flooded my inbox. I hadn’t just made her day; I’d made her entire month. A fact she reminded me of frequently.
Meanwhile, I was stuck with a tub of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter that no one in my household enjoyed eating. The book was a dud — even my Gran commented about “the rubbish they publish these days.”
As for the competition, I never entered. Although maybe I should have. If I’d won, I could have told Fabio an important truth: I really could believe it wasn’t butter.
Sandi Parsons is an award-winning school librarian with over 20 years experience working in educational libraries. She lives with her favorite husband and two problem puppies. Her fridge shelves remain I Can’t Belive It’s Not Butter free.
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