I am afraid of peanut butter fudge.

Rather, I am afraid of saying “peanut butter fudge.”

Let’s back up.

I have the easiest job ever.  My job is to smile and hand out free candy.  Like Halloween, only for nine hours at a time standing on your feet up and down stairs.  Okay, not so easy, but not exactly mentally taxing, either.  Smile, announce the name of the candy in your hand, extend hand, place candy in hand of tourist.  NEXT!

Given the repeated monotony of the main function of my job, I am allowed time for my mind to wander:  What was the name of that book I wanted to buy?  Should I schedule a bang trim next week?  When will I have time to buy groceries?  Where will I take my boyfriend for dinner this week?  And so on.

One such occasion, my mind must have been wandering and a customer startled me out of my reverie asking, “What are we sampling?”

“Penis butter fudge..?”  I offered with my mechanical lilt of the head and outstretched arm.

They looked at me quizzically.  My heart lurched.  I realized my mistake.  I tried to maintain calm.  I repeated myself as though she hadn’t heard me correctly the first time:

“Today we’re sampling Peanut Butter Fudge from our fudge selection downstairs,” I smiled icily, trying to appear superior and in general the kind of person who would never just casually say “Penis” to a stranger while handing out free candy.  LA!  How absurd.

“Would you like to try some?”

They accepted my offerings, and though the whole exchange took a matter of seconds, it had been a full month before I worked up the courage to say “peanut” in front of strangers again.  I’ve been telling the fudge staff that I’d rather not sample anything with nuts in it for fear of aggravating anyone’s peanut allergies.

Which is a stickier situation than penis butter fudge, I’m sure.