Spreading the Joy Butter

On Saturday, we went to a 60th birthday surprise party for a dear family friend of kk. We took the long way (non-freeway way) to Livonia to pick up kk’s dad and then we hopped on the freeway for the quick little sprint to Detroit for the party.

On the way to Livonia, the gray winter sky dusted our surroundings with a simple sadness; the depleted horizontal landscape of Michign Avenue struck that same chord of ouch and yuck in my heart that it does every time we drive down it. Things are so built up and at the same time so depressed. There are strange bars and shabby motels where people take up permanent residence. There’s a GM plant and multiple care dealers; Home Depot and Bob Evans; Targets, Targets, Targets, and strip clubs.

As kk drove, I thought up nice things to write in the birthday girl’s card and kept my head down even though the car-sickness that I easily succumb to, when not looking out the window, was creeping into my chest. The birthday girl is indeed a woman who has an infectious joyfulness about her. So, I toyed with words about the joy she shares.

I turned to kk, “how about your joy is contagious; keep spreading the joy butter throughout the year?”

Kk chuckled, “spreading joy butter sounds kinda sexual.”

I said, “ha ha ha it does.”

Kk responded with, “maybe that is what we should call girl goo/juice/orgasm residue—Joy Butter.”

I agreed that girl come/cum should and could and would from now on, in our house, be referred to as Joy Butter. The dismal drive down Michigan Avenue got better when we started talking about the joy butter.

Keep spreading the joy butter ladies; it’s good for the soul.