They did what to that pickle?

Unless you're going to be perverse and offer me something from a menu of offal, I'd like to think that I'm not too difficult to satisfy. I was, years and years ago, only a partially successful anorexic because I actually like to eat. I don't like sauerkraut, though. Or maple syrup (give me bananas and powdered sugar on my pancakes. Or Courtesy Diner crackbutter*). I don't like rhubarb, either, though I tended my own patch for five years because my aunt either lacked the sentimentality or the sense to keep the very plants that my dearly departed grandpa planted in 1978 alive herself and somebody, to my way of thinking, had to do it. I even tried to transplant the the hardiest of those nasty red stalks when we moved, though my new yard lacked any suitable space, but mostly failed. I honor the vegetative determination of 25 year old perennials, but I'm still not going to eat them.

I eat dill pickles, though. But I hereby guarantee that I will never eat one marinated in Kool-Aid.


*Get your mind out of the gutter, go to the Courtesy Diner, order and eat some pancakes, straight, with no syrup or jelly or what have you, try to stop eating said pancakes, no matter how full you are, and tell me there's no crack in that butter. Go ahead, try.