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Mar. 9th, 2006 02:52 pmYou know what I love in a completely non-symbolic and in fact very literal way? Pickles.
We never had pickles in the house when I was growing up, and frankly, they always looked kind of gross to me. Plus they were basically just cucumbers in salt water. I loathe cucumbers. The sight, smell, or texture of them is enough to turn my stomach (which is unfortunate, given that my mother loves cucumber sandwiches). The one exception is the Japanese cucumber, and then only in maki rolls next to some cream cheese or some unagi. Otherwise, that's a negatory on the cucumber.
So I never really even contemplated eating a pickle until I was in my early 20s. I don't actually remember what my first pickle experience was, or what made me decide to take that first, life-changing bite. Maybe it was on a hamburger, or maybe it was a harmless-looking sliver lying beside a tuna salad sandwich. All I know is that I fell in love, specifically with garlic dill pickles (sweet pickles are a little too freaky for me). I could eat pickles every day. In fact, frequently I do eat pickles every day. In the fall I brought two jars of pickles to work specifically for afternoon snacking purposes. One of my favourite lunches is a couple of pickles with some bread and butter and a few slices of cheese.
Anyhow, the point (and there is a point) is that, while I don't wish to alarm anyone, a very, very sad thing happened to me at work today.
I ate the last of my pickles.
I AM OUT OF PICKLES, PEOPLE.
This is, at the very least, a class 5 emergency. There should be some kind of red hotline government pickle-phone that I can use to have a jar of pickles couriered directly to me here at the office. I feel that this would be an excellent expenditure of government dollars. In fact, I believe I should write a proposal to my boss about it right now.
We never had pickles in the house when I was growing up, and frankly, they always looked kind of gross to me. Plus they were basically just cucumbers in salt water. I loathe cucumbers. The sight, smell, or texture of them is enough to turn my stomach (which is unfortunate, given that my mother loves cucumber sandwiches). The one exception is the Japanese cucumber, and then only in maki rolls next to some cream cheese or some unagi. Otherwise, that's a negatory on the cucumber.
So I never really even contemplated eating a pickle until I was in my early 20s. I don't actually remember what my first pickle experience was, or what made me decide to take that first, life-changing bite. Maybe it was on a hamburger, or maybe it was a harmless-looking sliver lying beside a tuna salad sandwich. All I know is that I fell in love, specifically with garlic dill pickles (sweet pickles are a little too freaky for me). I could eat pickles every day. In fact, frequently I do eat pickles every day. In the fall I brought two jars of pickles to work specifically for afternoon snacking purposes. One of my favourite lunches is a couple of pickles with some bread and butter and a few slices of cheese.
Anyhow, the point (and there is a point) is that, while I don't wish to alarm anyone, a very, very sad thing happened to me at work today.
I ate the last of my pickles.
I AM OUT OF PICKLES, PEOPLE.
This is, at the very least, a class 5 emergency. There should be some kind of red hotline government pickle-phone that I can use to have a jar of pickles couriered directly to me here at the office. I feel that this would be an excellent expenditure of government dollars. In fact, I believe I should write a proposal to my boss about it right now.
