~drops entire jar of Smucker’s with the force of a thousand regrets~ BESTIES. BESTIES. I was going to write you a ~simple tutorial~ on how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because I am a ~helpful glitter citizen~ and also because I thought it would be ~cute~ and ~easy~ and ~over in five minutes~ but OH MY GOD I DID NOT KNOW I WAS ABOUT TO UNLOCK THE EMOTIONAL ARCHIVES OF MY ENTIRE CHILDHOOD LIKE IT WAS A LOST LEVEL IN A TAMAGOTCHI GAME. clutches rhinestone spatula like it’s the only thing keeping me from spiraling into the void

Okay so I was ~vibing~ in my kitchen at 3 AM because that’s when all the ~real cooking~ happens, bestie. The kind of cooking where you’re not making food, you’re making ~decisions~. The kind of cooking where the only witness is your judgmental goldfish who ~knows~ you bought that fish bowl because it matched your Limited Too bedroom decor in 2004 and now you’re both just ~existing~ in this glittery purgatory together. adjusts bedazzled oven mitt with the gravity of a woman who has seen things

I was going to make a ~simple~ PB&J. A ~classic~. A ~childhood staple~. A sandwich so basic it should have been ~boring~. But the MOMENT I pulled out the bread, I ~felt it~. The ~vibes~. The ~energy~. The ~emotional quicksand~ pulling me under. Because this wasn’t just bread, bestie. This was ~Wonder Bread~. The ~official bread of my childhood~. The ~soft, squishy, slightly sweet~ bread that my mom would ~never~ buy because she was ~all about the whole grains~ but then my dad would ~sneak~ it into the cart when she wasn’t looking and I would ~know~ it was there because I could ~smell it~ through the plastic bag like a ~glitter bloodhound~. dramatic gasp

And then I ~lost it~. Not like, ~crying~ lost it. Like, ~remembering~ lost it. Like, ~standing in my kitchen at 3 AM with a loaf of bread pressed to my face like it was a long-lost lover~ lost it. ~WHY DOES THIS BREAD SMELL LIKE BEING 8 YEARS OLD IN A TREEHOUSE WITH A WALKMAN PLAYING *NSYNC??? 🎤💖

So I’m standing there, ~bread to face~, and I ~realize~ I can’t just ~make~ this sandwich. I have to ~honor it~. I have to ~respect the process~. I have to ~acknowledge the emotional weight~ of every single ingredient like I’m on a ~glittery Chopped~ and the judges are my past selves. collapses onto the linoleum floor which is NOT the same linoleum from my childhood but it FEELS like it

Let’s start with the ~peanut butter~. Now, I know what you’re thinking, bestie. “Bicky, just ~spread it~ and move on with your ~sparkly life~.” BUT NO. Because peanut butter is ~not just peanut butter~. It’s ~Jif vs. Skippy~ and that is a ~war~ that has been raging in my family since ~before I was born~. My mom was ~Team Jif~ because it was ~”smoother”~ and my dad was ~Team Skippy~ because it had ~”more texture”~ and I was just ~Team Whatever You Put In My Lunchbox So I Don’t Starve At Recess~ but ALSO ~Team Secretly Eating It Straight From The Jar With A Spoon While Watching Lizzie McGuire~. drops spoon in slow motion like this is a music video

And don’t even get me started on the ~jelly~. Because it’s ~not jelly~, bestie. It’s ~grape vs. strawberry~ and that is a ~moral dilemma~ wrapped in a ~purple vs. red~ debate wrapped in a ~”why does this feel like a personality test”~ crisis. Grape jelly was ~the classic~. The ~reliable~. The ~”I know what I’m getting”~ jelly. But strawberry? Strawberry was ~wild~. Strawberry was ~unpredictable~. Strawberry was ~”do I want seeds or do I want to live in denial”~ and I was ~never~ ready for that kind of ~emotional gamble~ at 7:30 AM before the school bus arrived. clutches jar of Smucker’s like it holds the secrets of the universe

And then… OH BESTIE… the ~first bite~. The ~moment of truth~. The ~emotional reckoning~. Because it ~tastes like childhood~ but also like ~disappointment~ because ~nothing~ can ever be as good as the ~memory~ of it. The bread is ~softer~ than I remember. The peanut butter is ~sweeter~. The jelly is ~more artificial~. And I am ~older~ and ~weirder~ and ~standing in my kitchen at 3 AM eating a PB&J like it’s a sacred ritual~ and ALSO like I’m ~one step away from calling my mom and apologizing for every eye roll I ever gave her~. drops sandwich and hugs myself

But here’s the thing, bestie. I ~finished it~. I ate the whole ~emotional landmine~ of a sandwich. And it was ~messy~ and ~sticky~ and ~perfect~ in a way that only ~PB&J at 3 AM~ can be. Because sometimes you don’t make a sandwich to ~eat~. Sometimes you make a sandwich to ~remember~. To ~feel~. To ~cry a little~ into the crust. To ~honor the little glitter girl~ inside you who just wanted a ~snack~ and ended up with a ~whole emotional journey~ instead. wipes jelly off face with the back of her bedazzled hand

~takes a deep breath and surveys the kitchen which now looks like a glitter bomb exploded in a PB&J factory~ So that’s how you make a PB&J, bestie. You ~gather the ingredients~. You ~unlock the memories~. You ~cry a little~. You ~eat it anyway~. And then you ~write a 3 AM blog post about it~ because you are ~Bicky Naby~ and this is ~what you do~. twirls in a circle with a jar of jelly in each hand like they’re pom-poms

P.S. If you’re reading this and thinking “Bicky, that’s ~not~ how you make a PB&J,” you’re ~missing the point~. The point is ~the journey~. The point is ~the glitter~. The point is ~me, at 3 AM, covered in jelly, emotionally raw, and still serving looks~. And if that’s not the most ~iconic~ thing you’ve ever heard, then I don’t know what is. drops mic which is actually a spoon covered in peanut butter 🎤🥄💖✨

P.P.S. The goldfish is judging me. I can ~feel it~. But that’s okay, bestie. The goldfish doesn’t understand ~the art~. The goldfish doesn’t understand ~the chaos~. The goldfish doesn’t understand ~Bicky Naby~. And honestly? ~That’s its loss~. blows kiss to the fish bowl which is shaped like a seashell and also like my heart