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On the first day of our Christmas, my nephew’s oldest asked me why I called it Tiger Butter. His query prompted me to expound on the ancient history of the term. The original recipe called for a single melted tiger, which, I explained, was extremely difficult to acquire, since tigers are notoriously late sleepers and tiger butter has always been exclusively a breakfast item. Later, for convenience more than anything, butter was melted instead, though the original name stuck.

Just to prove how scandalously disrespectful youth have become, he accused me of making up that story. I do admit to being somewhat of a trivia freak. I’m particularly attracted to trivia that I make up on the spot.

Georgie asked if he could call me Grandpa, and I strenuously opposed the idea. First of all, I’m actually his Great Uncle, his grandmother’s brother. Second, I’m a little young for the wholesale use of such a pejorative term, outside my own grandchildren. I have no interest in being everyone’s grandfather. We agreed that I would, however, welcome the use of the informal “Grumps” instead.

©2013 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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