i can't believe it's not butter. oh wait. yes, i can. because it isn't at all the same, maybe it looks the same on the surface, but if you've ever had butter, you'll know it's not butter, after one taste you'll know it's not.
in a way, it's sad. sad because all they've had is the cheap substitute, but it's at the store, all you have to do is maybe pay a bit more for it, it's there if you look but you're so afraid to try it that you'll never know. after all, margerine is more cost-effective, and probably healthier too.
'only the immature must prove their maturity.' if you have to prove it, something's wrong. if you have to prove it, it's not really there. and if you're writing to prove something, if you are writing to win the attention of other people and perpetuate your sparkly image to them, you are a livejournal whore not worth the keyboard your words are typed on.
*this word was supposed to be many. i'm not sure what happened to it - if my computer froze or if it was a freudian slip. either way, this works out almost better, so much that it's nearly frightening. i choose to leave it.