My folks used to say that I could live on hot dogs and popcorn. They were probably right.
When I smell popcorn popping, I feel as though I could literally float in its direction, lilting across the space on the deliciousness that is filling the air. I remember Dad popping corn in a square metal box on a long handle… as we’d sit around a bonfire anxiously awaiting our turn to grab a big handful when it got passed around.
Even today, the moment that hubby asks, “Would you like to watch a movie?” I am instantly in the kitchen starting to pop corn and melt butter.
For this salty girl, very little is more satisfying… right down to the very last tiny bit at the bottom of the bowl.
