I developed an obsession with these tinned pickled cucumbers from Israel a couple of months ago, and things started to get out of hand quite quickly. They are not available just anywhere, so I've been planning my social schedule around the likelihood of passing a supermarket on the way home that stocks the cucumbers (AD, JB - I'm sorry. I don't love you, I've been using you purely for your proximity to my dealer).
I knew I had a problem when I found them in a new supermarket. As well as the normal size, they come in massive 3kg tins. My eyes glazed over, I hopped excitedly from one foot to the other like a toddler needing to wee but not wanting to leave the sweets table at a party. I tried desperately to form a coherent plan of action: should I take a photo of the tins? should I buy one and carry it on to the bus and then the ferry? Would I be able to carry it home if I abandoned all my other groceries? And were things like olive oil really that important anyway? I managed to get a grip on myself, and bought 2 tins of the normal size.
I've finally managed to overcome the addiction by the total overdose method. Yesterday I had bacon and pickles for breakfast, and just like the time Channel 7 showed 2 episodes of Ghost Whisperer in a row and I got sick of it, I knew part way into pickle number three that pickle number four would be my last.
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2 comments:
I always suspected you were just using me for my cucumber.
That's the fastest and saddest love story I've ever read.
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