Popped.

Where I come from popcorn is a big deal. A very big deal. Nearly a spiritual experience. From the time we were small children we sat on the stool watching grandpa make the popcorn. Only him.

Popped to perfection.

Air popper, roasting pan, butter and salted to perfection. Former cottage cheese containers as our serving dishes.

I am not as good at it. I must have watched him make it 50 times but I still cannot duplicate. Sad really. It's not a skill that just comes with genetics.

I've got the air popper. Bought it on Black Friday a couple years ago. For not much money. It's not as good as his. It flings popcorn all over the kitchen in some sort of angry fit.

The children are accustomed to the ease and taste of Orvile via the microwave.

But today, it's cold and rainy. We're catching up on our Halloween movies. Felt like the right time to bust out the air popper. The popper that we use so little it's stored in a cabinet near the ceiling. I have to get on a tall stool and then I still have to reach.

Melted the butter, readied the salt. Let the popper throw its fit. All over the kitchen.

The children, well, they were not impressed. First off, the popcorn wasn't fluorescent yellow and 'buttery'. 

The boy said, "It's buttered. Like on two pieces."

Not a glowing review, I'm afraid.

I will not let a bad review bring me down! I will try again! I will persevere!

Perhaps as a start I should buy a new popper. 

One that is slightly less temperamental.

Fit thrown.