Pickles

I am an open book. If you ask me a question than I give you an answer. Sometimes, okay a lot of times, I probably give you information that you didn’t even ask for!

I remember when I was younger I was with my Mom and someone complimented me on my shirt.

”Thanks!” I said. “I got it at the Gap for $3.99!”

“Sarah,” my Mom said, “They didn’t ask how much it cost or where you got it. They just said they liked it!”

Until then I never really thought about how much information I was giving out unintentionally. Now this random person knew I liked both the Gap AND good bargain!

I realize I talk about things I like. Did you know I like Drag Queens? Did you know I run ridiculous amounts of miles with the Team to End AIDS? How about yogurt? Did you know I used to make my own yogurt?

There is one thing I didn’t realize how much I talked about. What is it you ask? You may already know because
A. I’ve talk to you about this topic.
OR
B. It’s the title of this blog post.

It’s PICKLES.

I love pickles. I have been known to drink a jar of pickle juice by choice. (Heads up, you will smell like pickles for days!) I love sour pickles, cornishon, dill pickles. I love garlic pickles, pickled tomatoes, and, my favorite, pickled garlic from Zabars. I’ll even take some garlic stuffed green olives!

How do I know I talk about it? I get sent some amazing pickle recipes, posts about pickles, and pickle restaurants from people and I don’t know how they know my love for pickles. I don’t remember telling them about it. Which, in turn, tells me that I talk about my love of pickled vegetables more than I realize.

And in case you were wondering I think a pickle bouquet would be way more desirable than a flower one. Just don’t add sweet pickles to it, they are just gross.