Not to brag, but I always knew it wasn’t butter. I had this deep belief that it was not butter. That’s just the kind of guy I am, I guess. When I was told to “Just Do It,” the joke was on them — I already was doing it. I had been “just doing it” for years. I knew what every kiss began with. I never needed to be told that. I knew that she was born with “it” — well, maybe she was.
I was obeying my thirst before I heard I was supposed to. I’m the kind of guy who innately knows to obey thirst. I knew when it came to picker-uppers, which one was the “quicker” of the bunch. I knew it was made for a woman, even though it was strong enough for me, a man. That’s just how these things work. Sure, sometimes I felt like a nut, but sometimes I most certainly did not. I lived in the moment. I never bet that I couldn’t eat just one. I knew the horrible odds of placing this bet. I knew what the best part of waking up was without being told. I’ve “thought” outside of numerous “buns.”
I won’t even tell you what I did for that damn bar, but it was never about the bar! Not to gloat, but I always knew I was in good hands and I knew it would keep going and going and going. And while it did melt in my mouth quite often, it did, in fact, also melt in my hands. And I never, EVER, left home without it. No one needed to tell me. I am the best a man can get. Because I’m worth it. Like a rock.
Honestly, I always knew where the beef was. It was right here all along.