Butter buy another...

Riding on a bus today, I recalled making some abstract reference to national security in my last write up. Excuse its randomn nature; it was the result of many hours without sleep. Apparently sleep deprivation affects the ability to think clearly.

Business aside, I'll move on to the really important stuff:

Someone stole my butter.

I tried the first fews days here without purchasing butter, hoping I could save a small amount of money and room in the fridge. Eventually though, I realized the role butter plays in my life and couldn't deny it any longer.

I bought a small container of Flora's original butter and used it a couple of times, leaving it on my shelf in the fridge--never giving its appeal to theives a thought...until this morning when I discovered the crime. At first glance I noticed that one of the three items occupying my shelf was missing. Apples and eggs still present (I proceeded to count that all three apples and all five of my eggs were indeed still there). Paranoia sets in.

I checked behind the eggs, despite obviously being able to see clear across my sparse shelf to the back of the fridge. Not there.
I checked the shelves below, the shelves above and the shelves in the other fridge. Not there. Not there. Not there.
I even rooted through everyone else's loot--no instant, microwaveable edibles were left unturned.

"ohhh, chocolate!"
"'Pickled' what?!"
"Is that furry? I don't even have to reference the expiration date on that."

Empty-handed.
Twelve hours later and my butter is still at large.

So I considered confronting my room mates about this because if I have to start marking my milk container, keeping tallies on the outside of my egg carton and doing inventory every night I might have to engage Plan Counter-Insurgency. At least that way I wouldn't have to go grocery shopping tomorrow.

For anyone composing a mental picture: my shelf presently holds a carton with five eggs, three individually-sized yogurts, three apples and a half full jar of strawberry jam. Oh, and don't forget to include the can of spaghetti in my cupboard.

In the end, I only casually mentioned the case of the missing butter to a couple house mates--as a point of interest. It probably isn't worth crying over spilled milk, or stolen butter for that matter. And my room mates are more than likely all innocent--at least innocent until proven guilty, and I don't think I can afford a lawyer.

There is a constant flow of strays and accquaintances moving throughout the house. And you know what they say, a pound and some pence is never worth getting inbetween an addict and his next butter fix.