The Crunchy Kind Is Especially Destructive

I house/pet-sit for a family that has a small farm; they have five dogs, six cats, three peacocks, twelve chickens, twelve ducks, four goats, and a donkey. I usually go up for the weekend if they decide they want to go up to their cabin in the mountains.

I get up there and they haven’t left yet. They are just finishing up lunch and the mom offers me some dessert; they are having apples and cinnamon. I accept the apples but not the cinnamon because I’m not a fan of that combo.

Mom: “Oh, it’s really good. I’m sure you’ll like it!”

Me: “I’m good with the apples. I’m not a big fan of apples and cinnamon; I prefer apples and peanut butter.”

Mom: *Straight-faced* “We don’t eat peanut butter because the ingredients can be used to make dynamite.”

Me: *Blinks in surprise* “Um… Well, I really like it more than the cinnamon. But I’ll just have the apples, then, thanks.”

We all ate our dessert and they left for the mountains. I never got her reasoning for telling me that. Why not just say, “We don’t have any,” or, “We don’t eat peanut butter.”? Honestly, I quickly grew to dislike staying at the house, and circumstances finally came together where they stopped calling me, but that always sticks out as one of the weirder interactions I had with them.