In a Pickle

In elementary school. I often snuck off campus during the lunch period. The principal figured this out and called my parents. They asked him to follow me to see where I was going. The next day apparently watched from afar to see where and what I did. He called them back and reported that I was going to the nearby convenience store and purchasing a jar of pickles. I later confessed that I was selling my lunch tickets to other students at a discount to obtain cash for the pickles, eating them on the walk back to school. My parents treated this as a very big deal. They grounded me for the rest of my life and made me write daily reports on the dangers of leaving campus at lunch. On the last night of my report-writing punishment I had run out of dangers and spent the evening writing about how dangerous wild dog bites could be.
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I’ve always had a weakness for dill pickles. It’s that thing that once I start, I can’t stop. I am reminded of this today, decades later. I was at Winco and saw a jar of baby dills. I stopped in my tracks, staring at them as if they were talking to me. I bought two of the big jars. When I came home, I sat down and couldn’t get them out of my head. It’s been three hours and the first jar is about empty. I am Jolene and I am a pickle-holic. Thankfully, my children don’t read my blogs.