The Nightmare After Christmas

As revealed yesterday, The Pony set up his electronic communications center on the kitchen table for an online recorded job interview.
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[Let the record show that we don't sit down to eat at the table every night. We did when the boys were both at home, but once Genius left for college, meals became more informal. Now we fill our plates in the kitchen. Hick prefers to feast in the (currently-broken) La-Z-Boy, and The Pony straps on the old feedbag at the living room coffee table. I sit on the short couch and talk to them, then warm up my food to take down to my lair.

As groceries are carried in, they are placed on the table. Most are put away, but Hick has some snacks that sit on one side until he's ready for a treat.]
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Later, after his interview had concluded, The Pony sprung a surprise on me.

"After my interview, I was sitting there at the table, gathering up my stuff. I saw something glittering in the corner of my eye. Gold! But to my mounting horror, it was not a precious, gleaming metal. Within that glass dish was 6-month old KERRYgold!"

"Huh. That was just Save A Lot butter. Which is even sadder."

Yes, The Pony discovered the cut-glass butter dish, which had not been used since Christmas, still protecting the remains of a stick of butter.

I do remember Christmas! I left the butter on the table, because we like it soft. I figured it would be gone within a day, what with The Pony being a true Butterton. We had Sister Schubert's Rolls left over. I can't imagine how this butter survived.

I told The Pony to set it on the kitchen counter, so I could get a picture. We were busy on Wednesday. As we came in the kitchen door, The Pony said he would send me the pictures he had already taken. Hick inquired. When The Pony said it was the butter left on the table since Christmas, Hick said,

"That don't hurt nothin'. It's still good."

I don't agree. Neither does The Pony. We can imagine eating butter that might have been left out a few days. But not six months, PLUS a few days!

Our first clue was the white fur growing on it.

I may eat BBQ hot dogs that have fallen on the porch where my little dog Jack licks up the juices from his leftovers. But not furry butter.