"May I?" Mom asked impishly. She plucked the stick of butter off the table and smashed/spread it directly onto her toast like she was crushing ants and shoveling a sidewalk at the same time.
"No!" I said.
"But . . . this way . . . I don't waste . . . " she protested.
Open butter sticks in the fridge were always studded with wheat toast crumbs, but this was the first time I'd seen her in action. It took me a while to realize that she meant to save water by not washing a knife.