Sing along with me:
Who stole the pickles form the pickle jar?
Did Janet steal the pickles from the pickle jar?
Thirty-five years ago this was a circle time song at my school. Strange which memories hold on through the decades.
Anywho, we buy fancy, six-ingredient, no-wondering-what’s-in-the-juice, pickles. A 32 oz jar is about $10. Maybe 15-20 spears. They’re big. And really good.
The first jar entered our house a few months ago. In a couple of hours, the sweet people I live with had ingested all but the juice. I ate none.
I was surrounded by sincerely apologetic “oops” faces.
A few weeks later I bought another jar, with this declaration, “Hear ye, hear ye, any who wish to eat a pickle from this jar must seek permission from… me.”
All complied and over the next several days, we each enjoyed our fair share of pickle spears.
Except one.
A single pickle floats in a jar in the back of the fridge, and I claim it.
“Mom, can I have your last pickle?”
“No.”
“Mom, when are you going to eat your last pickle?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom, why haven’t you eaten your pickle yet? It’s been weeks!”
And so on.
We’ve bought a couple more jars since then. Usually I forget about the lone pickle on the middle shelf, but I’m the only one, especially once the other jars had been emptied.
At this point I might be being a wee bit stubborn, but hey, one day it will make a good story for the grandkids.
Take a moment, please, to read some other entries in our challenge:
Perception -> Perspective -> Purpose - Pathway to Purpose
Perspectacles - Hanging Out and Hanging In
Pain - Musing on Life