Classic Jif. It is all you will ever find in my cabinet. (When we get a house, it will be all you will ever find in my pantry.) Yes, I know, I know — hydrogenated oils. But they’re yummy hydrogenated oils. On sandwiches and along the edge of the slice of a Granny Smith green apple, or sometimes all by itself at the end of a spoon… As for me and my house, we will eat Jif.
I can’t always have Jif though. If I go to someone’s house and they have Peter Pan, I will eat the Peter Pan. Even if it’s crunchy. I’ve been known to have a sandwich with natural peanut butter spread on one slice of bread. Believe it.
It’s not like I can carry around a jar of Jif with me wherever I go. My bag would be really heavy. So sometimes, I have to settle.
Settling for peanut butter other than Jif isn’t a big deal.
Settling for something other than God’s best for your life is.
I don’t know why, but I got to thinking about the past again. I was so picky about silly things when I was younger. Picky about the clothes I wore — not how they looked necessarily, just where I got them. I would fight to the death before I’d go into Wal-Mart or, God forbid, Kmart. Picky about accessories. Picky about the TV I watched, making sure I watched the right shows so I’d be able to talk about them at school the next day. You know, if I was asked.
What was I not so picky about? Relationships. Granted, I did have some wonderful experiences, but as I look back, I am dumbfounded at my own stupidity most of the time.
It was kind of like my choices in clothes for a while. It didn’t matter that they weren’t flattering me, as long as I got them at the right places. Same with boyfriends — it didn’t matter if they were good for me, as long as I had them.
I’m not around young adults as much as I once was, but I have a feeling that there’s still some of that going around. They won’t dare be caught wearing something that’s from a store outside of the mall, but they will fill their time with a person or with people who are only going to bring them down and make them look bad.
Furthermore, as picky as they are with their clothes or the food they eat… They are so not picky about what they do with the bodies they clothe and feed. They’ll turn up their nose if you offer them the wrong kind of peanut butter, but they don’t think twice before kissing the wrong kind of guy. Or having sex with what seems to be the right kind of guy. (If he’s not the kind of guy who has put two rings on your finger, he’s not right yet.) There was wisdom in 1995’s Clueless when Cher responded to criticism of her virginity with, “You see how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet.”
I won’t lie. I don’t like how often I settled. Yeah, I guess you could say it got me to where I am now in a roundabout way, but I don’t think I had to go there to get here. I could’ve just held out for Jif.
The frustrating part is, I doubt I would’ve listened. Heck, I know I didn’t listen. So why should young people today be any different from me?
Honestly, I thought they were smarter. I hear about college students that I’ve known since they were my daughters’ ages and the choices that they are making, and I’m stunned. I thought they were stronger than me.
I wonder if they know. You don’t have to try the Peter Pan to figure out that Jif is best. You can just like the Jif and live very contendedly. Sometimes, it’s okay to just be choosy.