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ailbheOr, Why Ailbhe once ate a Whole Jar of Pickled Onions in One Go.
When I was pregnant with Linnea, a little over six years ago now, I had a mild inclination one day to eat a pickled onion.
"Rob," I said, "let's buy some pickles."
Rob shuddered visibly. He never does buy pickles, and rarely ate them, except in Sweden. And I only wanted one tiny pickled onion, so I didn't buy the jar.
A couple of days later I saw a jar in a shop, and picked it up. I thought I'd like one or two. But I put it down again, because I didn't want to store the other thirty little weeny onions in the fridge for three years and then throw them away.
And at the end of the week, I caved. I went and bought the jar of onions. I got a fork. I sat on my bed and opened the jar. I ate the onions straight from the jar; stab onion with fork, suck from fork, crunch, swallow-and-stab simultaneously, suck from fork, crunch, swallow-and-stab... and then the onions were all gone.
THEY TASTED SO GOOD. Nothing ever tasted that good before. For all I know, nothing has tasted that good since, though I wouldn't bet on that because Rob learned to cook a couple of years ago and he's very good at it.
Oh man those pickled onions tasted so good.
They were incredibly good. God. Oh wow.
Oh, ow.
Ow.
I spent the rest of the day curled up on the bed clutching as many parts of my abdomen as I could reach, whimpering "But they tasted so good!"
I've paid a lot more attention to mild inclinations to eat very specific foods, ever since.
When I was pregnant with Linnea, a little over six years ago now, I had a mild inclination one day to eat a pickled onion.
"Rob," I said, "let's buy some pickles."
Rob shuddered visibly. He never does buy pickles, and rarely ate them, except in Sweden. And I only wanted one tiny pickled onion, so I didn't buy the jar.
A couple of days later I saw a jar in a shop, and picked it up. I thought I'd like one or two. But I put it down again, because I didn't want to store the other thirty little weeny onions in the fridge for three years and then throw them away.
And at the end of the week, I caved. I went and bought the jar of onions. I got a fork. I sat on my bed and opened the jar. I ate the onions straight from the jar; stab onion with fork, suck from fork, crunch, swallow-and-stab simultaneously, suck from fork, crunch, swallow-and-stab... and then the onions were all gone.
THEY TASTED SO GOOD. Nothing ever tasted that good before. For all I know, nothing has tasted that good since, though I wouldn't bet on that because Rob learned to cook a couple of years ago and he's very good at it.
Oh man those pickled onions tasted so good.
They were incredibly good. God. Oh wow.
Oh, ow.
Ow.
I spent the rest of the day curled up on the bed clutching as many parts of my abdomen as I could reach, whimpering "But they tasted so good!"
I've paid a lot more attention to mild inclinations to eat very specific foods, ever since.