The Pickle


June 2, 2009


I used to like pickles when I was little. Except I only liked dill, especially the ones that came in a sack of pickle juice that you could get at the fair. Pickles and I were buds, we laughed at the same parts in movies, we danced together, and we even held hands when no one else was watching. But then one night I dreamt that a mammoth-sized pickle chased me in to a department store dressing room and made me try on all sorts of things, like a pair of coolots, and a silver track suit, and a bra, and then, as you could imagine, the pickle felt me up. I smacked it around a little bit to show it who’s boss, but then the pickle stuck me in a sack with pickle juice, and  carried me around the store with its fat, green pickle hands clutching me tight. Once we got outside I noticed the pickle was wearing a bonnet and lace-trimmed boots, although it was hard to tell if the boots were lace trimmed, because everything looked green and distorted because, hello, I was being held hostage in a stinky pickle bag. 

Then the pickle, wearing the bonnet and the speculated lace-trimmed boots took a giant bite out of me, and I died. 

After that horrifying dream, I’ve never looked at the pickle the same way. I have no respect for it, and when I see it cowering in my sandwich, between my cheese and meat, I pick it out carefully, using only my fingernails, and toss it against the wall, and curse the day that the pickle was born.


What’s worse is that the pickle you throw against the wall is only a mere slice of the whole thing, so you never really get rid of the whole offender, and it regenerates the missing part, and it lives on forever just waiting to slice off a piece of itself and jump into another one of your sandwiches.

by dgm on June 2, 2009

I just have to stop and thank you for the entertainment you provide each night while I read your blog! I am truly thankful!

by Taylore :) on June 2, 2009

LOL What the hell? Were you on crack when you had that dream??

by Bellacantare on June 3, 2009

PIckles. How random. After reading this I suddenly recall a time years ago when a bunch of us from work went to TGIFridays for drinks. Somehow, after a few, someone threw pickle slices across the table. One landed square on our boss’s forehead. It stuck. Thank you for being so funny.

by MomZombie on June 4, 2009

You sound like my husband, mother-in-law, and step-daughter. They hate pickles. I don’t know if it’s genetic or dream-related. Interesting…
You know Freud would have a field day with that dream, right?

by 'cuz I'm the mommy, that's why on June 10, 2009

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