Peas

I hate peas

I mean I really hate them. You can try to hide them in anything you like. I will taste them. And I will gag.

Yes I admit I have eaten the odd one. We camp a lot and some wierdos like to add peas to stews occasionally. (You know who you are.)

The reason for their ingestion in these circumstances? It’s dark and I’d rather eat the odd (gag) pea, than one thousand moths/flying ants/stink beetles, that come with all meals, while sitting under or near a light.

The story goes that I used to enjoy these little balls of grossness when I was little. My Mum tells me I would crawl about to others plates and pinch their peas for my own enjoyment.

I do not recall this. Thank goodness.

What I do recall is my beloved Fardie telling me that peas had worms inside them.

Whether he told me this story many times, or just the one time, that I replayed over and over, I’m not sure.

But it stuck.

And I hate peas.

My parents obviously loved them, for they were on the table most nights for dinner. I would attempt to eat them, even swallowing forkfuls whole. Like a highly medicated/stressed out actress in an 80’s movie.

It was no good, I couldn’t do it. I remember being in strife because of it, and again, I’m not entirely sure, but there is a fair chance I got smacked on a few occasions (thanks Mum).

Living with inside dogs you’d think this would have answered my pea hating prayers. However it seems our dogs didn’t like peas either.

I would slyly spirit away peas individually from my plate to under the lounge/sitting chair thing* that was behind my seat. Must of ended up with quite a pile before I realised that the dogs weren’t eating them.

Mum found them.

Smacked again no doubt.

Even hiding them under my mash was a failure as I loved mash and hated to leave any behind.

One day my dad came home with a little counter. I’ve since been told it was a golfing tally counter, but to me, it was a little pea odometer.

Every pea I ate, the counter got a click and come the end of the year, when we made our annual trip “home” to our Grandparents, I would proudly take my pea counter to show my Grandma how many peas I had eaten that year.

Well played parents. Well played.

I still never, ever chewed one. Always swallowed whole.

Now I am a grown up, and though it took me moving out and having a baby to realise the true importance of all of the vegetable family, I still refuse to eat peas.

In testament to the truly great mother and wife that I am, I will occasionally cook the horrid green beasties for my pea loving family.

I have even made pies and put (gag gag gag) mushy peas on top for Dan and G1.

Though after these selfless acts of goodwill, I am reminded of what my comic book idol Garfield once said to his love interest, Arlene,

“Lips that touch mice will never touch mine.”

What was your most hated food?

Like the peas say. EEW.

Like the peas say. EEW.

photo 2

Hehe, I love Garfield!

* Our dining suite was every bit the 70’s. Orange vinyl, metal chairs and a wood laminated chipboard table, complete with matching lounge/sitting chair. If my memory serves me right the underside of the table housed the odd piece of used chewy, courtesy of my older sisters. And perhaps the odd pea, squished till it stuck.

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