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Picked beets. My grandmother loved them and they were on her relish tray for Thanksgiving every year. My mother and (I think) my aunt like them, and they end up showing up whenever the whole family has Thanksgiving. Every few years, my mother forgets that I despise them and says, "You should try them. How do you know you don't like them?" And every time, I remind her that I have tried them, I find them to be one of the vilest things in existence, and that they are, in fact, one of the few things that I have tried and don't like.
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The war ended. They went home.
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Yesterday, on the way home from seeing my girlfriend. I sang along with my Zune, except when the weather or traffic required more of my concentration.

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ebony14

February 2013

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