This Nut Machine will self-destruct in 5, 4, 3, 2 . . .

Have you ever been new to a gym? I don't mean transferring from one part of the city to another, dear Gymrats, I mean the myriad of awkward moments experienced when you're new to the whole "workout" scene. Those moments when you, in your ratty sweatpants and husband's t-shirt, look around and realize you never received the dress-code memo explaining that perfect hair, makeup, and brightly-colored Lycra are where it's really at. Heaven forbid you show up in something that's seen sweat and better days.

Those moments when you hang out at a 'safe' machine (aka the only one you can actually figure out how to use in the three seconds it takes to walk over to it, thus saving you the embarrassment of looking like an idiot caught up in the paint scaffolding) while you watch and wait and study how it's used by seasoned, spandex-clad professionals before diving in yourself. If you're like me, this sometimes takes weeks of careful planning and attention.

I bring this up only because that's been my relationship to the grind-your-own nut butter machines at Winco for the last several months. Since we don't have a store in Logan, I make a trip down every month or so. The last few times I've made a point to watch the almond butter machine with a close eye. Unfortunately, each of my stake-outs have tanked; no one strolled up to show me how it was done.

A few months ago, I mustered my courage and gave it a go. I grabbed a bowl, I pressed the button. Nothing. The machine hummed, but that was it. I quickly looked around, shook the machine a little and tried again. Still my bowl remained empty. Feeling flustered (this was exactly why I did my recon in the first place- stupid masses who never shared their nut-butter know-how!), I dropped the container and retreated.

Well, we were back again a few weeks ago and I decided to get back up on the horse. I'd been working it out in my mind over the last while, and figured that maybe the cap screwed on the front of the dispenser was the problem and only needed to be removed to get the butter flowing. I pulled up with my cart and kiddies, snatched up a bowl with confidence and began unscrewing the pin that held the cap in place. Never mind the elbow grease it took to get it to turn- after all, I knew what I was doing now. I held the bowl, I pressed the button, and every almond within a mile radius exploded like the first hydrogen bomb.

In a state of complete shock, I watched as both myself and my kids were pelted with bits of nut and oil flying at fifty mph! I was so stunned it took me a full minute to turn the thing off. When I finally did there was no hiding the evidence of my idiocy. We were wearing it. Reflexes returned and I snatched a baby wipe out of my bag like lightening, mopping and brushing us all off in an embarrassed frenzy. I prayed I could clean everything up before anyone rounded the corner to stop, stare, laugh, and, inevitably, ask if they could explain how to work such a simple machine.

I moved to the table, aiming to clear that evidence as well when Reese bellowed at the top of her voice,

"Mommy- NOOOO! Don't hurt yourself!!!"

You should have seen the spectators come rushing then.

Dang it, I guess that cap was important.

We walked up the cereal aisle and waited for the audience to clear before returning, slipping the cap back on and securing it into place. I held the bowl. I pressed the button. And a marvelous stream of well-earned almond butter poured out.

Ha! I knew I could do it.