Pickles and Potatoes

Sunday night she said my baked potatoes were really good, better than the one at the restaurant on Saturday. Monday night she inhaled her share of the mashed potatoes I made, and a few bites of mine, too. And she kept saying how good they were.

Then there was this morning.

Me: "Do you want me to make you a lunch?"
TW: "No pickles."

No pickles? We weren't even talking about pickles. I mean, sure, we had pickles on our sandwiches last week, but there had been no pickle discussions at all this morning, let alone this week.

To summarize, Potatoes good, Pickles bad.

P.S. Did I mention her sense of smell has gone through the roof to the point where she could probably sniff out pot in a jar of peanut butter?

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