Hold the Pickles

My family (mom, dad, siblings – hubby was not there) and I were in a restaurant. We’re talking. I look at the menu, at several different types of chili you could order. Now, after being awake for 10 hours, I can’t recall if I ate some chili in the dream or if I just saw a picture of it in the menu. I can’t remember tastes or smells (although I’ve had dreams with both of those senses in them before).

Next, evidently two servers or busboys meet directly behind me. I hear them talking, but I never see them. One is apparently holding an empty pickle jar. The other comments, “Damn, you served a lot of pickles. There isn’t even hardly any juice in there!” (not verbatim) The other responds, “Yeah, I know, I just kind of drizzle the pickle juice onto the pickles…” or something, I can’t remember.

As I listened, I began to feel disgusted, because I LOATHE EVERY SINGLE THING ABOUT PICKLES WITH THE FIRE OF A SUPERNOVA. And hearing about pickle juice just makes me feel even more sick.  It reminds me of, in high school, I had a teacher who would make “pickle-sicles” by freezing pickle juice into little paper cups, then selling it as part of a fundraiser for a club. OMG, I would rather lick my cat’s asshole…..

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One Response

  1. LMAO, that teacher was my aunt!! We still have pickle sicles for the kids at family gatherings sometimes! hahaha. I loved this one.

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