“Drive south until the butter melts.”
I heard that saying last week for the first time, and I dare say I was charmed by the enticing “get in your car and go” imagery it evoked.
I could use a warm little holiday like that right about now.
Heaven knows if I were to put the butter dish in the front seat of my car, even with the heat on, it wouldn’t melt anytime soon. In my neck of the woods, the butter dish—just sitting in its little spot in the kitchen cupboard—is as good a weather gauge as the thermometer is that’s in the unheated porch.