A tribute to Jif

My sincere and most heartfelt thanks to this humble resident of many households. Five days a week, I’m surrounded by teenagers with raging hormones and who try to assert themselves at every possible opportunity,. Enter Jif, which provides great comfort, assurance and satisfaction in this seemingly unstable world of mine.

I spent about 40 minutes with this yellow bottle (and yellow gloves given my my cell), scrubbing to my heart’s content. Honestly, it’s quite therapeutic to do something mundane and brainless once in a while. This exercise (probably the only session I’ll be getting all week) left me panting and working up a great sweat. But I have much to boast about after this cardio-yoga workout. Gone are the stubborn black stains, the brown splotches and the oil slicks. I am a proud owner of a clean, shining, gleaming stove that’s good as new. Actually, it’s still new, since it’s not even 4 months’ old, but hubby’s zi-char cooking techniques is another story…

Good ol’ Jif (I’m still not used to its new name, Cif) is testimony that not all stubbornness is immovable, that what is unclean can be made clean. Jif is proof that the good and the holy can - and WILL - triumph.

Christopher Boone may not have much respect for all things yellow, but hey, he’s not met Jif and my yellow gloves yet.