When I was in Kindergarten, we played a counting game where Miss FIelding basically gave us each a bowl of olives and we had to count as many as we could. And she was like, "You can eat every single one you count!" and all of the kids cheered. And I did
not get it because I thought olives were
gross. And I told that very agressively to Miss Fielding and she changed my behaviour card from a green light to a
yellow light.
But now I love olives! Maybe because I only know how to cook when olive oil is involved? Butter burns too easily. I only know how to bake with butter. I really like cooking, but I go about it in a totes lazy fashion.
I went through a phase where I wanted to name my children after things you could put in dishes, like Olive, and Rosemary, and Basil. They would be perfect names were I to take part in a whimsical cute fake British family.
And pickles. I mean, pickles are pickles. I hated pickles, but I loved the way they sounded equal parts juicy and crunchy when someone would bite into one at lunch in high school. And I liked the way they smelled, all briney. But I hated their taste, until quite recently!
I have developed a taste for Gherkins. Gherkin is also the name of a building in London.
I wonder why.
and read a bit of 
for good measure and/or recherche for a new play I'm getting inklings on, but there was this party of 30 French dudes that did not want the noodles we sent them so I spent my downtime downing noodles in sauce rather than furthering my Book-a-Day-in-March conquest.
