Yesterday, we visited Sam's Club. I had a short list of stuff we needed, I really only wanted some of their fresh rolls to have with our BBQ dinner. As usual, Hubs had other ideas. He always complains that he can't walk out of that store for less than $200. It really is his own fault.
I wanted three things: the rolls, pistashio nuts, and one other thing that I can't remember right now. I do remember that we got everything on my list. As we were wandering through the store, I spotted giant jars of pickles. Great big, dill pickles.
Now, knowing how my beloved Hubs feels about pickles, I haven't eaten one in a least 20 years. To be fair, I feel about egg salad the way he feels about pickles. And I refuse to make it for him. So we have both given up something we loved.
Anyway, I can rarely resist a chance to mess with him. I pointed out the jars of pickles, and asked if I could get one. He totally surprised me when he said yes! So into basket went the pickles. He was totally skeeved about the whole thing, shuddering convincingly. I made sure he had to handle the jar and put it on the belt at the checkout, then again by putting it back in the cart!
After we got home, he made me carry it in from the truck. And later that night, we discussed what he called The Pickle Rules. I am only allowed to eat them on nights when he is working, and before 8 p.m. That way the smell has almost 12 hours to dissipate.
To be totally truthful, I will eat the dang things whenever the heck I want to.