Picky Pickle Picker

This blog actually has something to do with married life! Problem one: I never have the guts to tell someone I don't like their food. At least not right away. I took peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to school for years in elementary school. I didn't tell my mom I didn't like peanut butter until I was 19 or 20. Some of you may be scratching your head right now and saying "But Sarah, you eat a PB&J every day!" This is true, but I use a very small amount of a very specific peanut butter-- and it mostly serves as an adhesive for flax seeds. Anywho, this tendency of mine brings me to problem number two: My Mother in law likes to cook... and my Step-Mother in law too... strange things. Everyone loves their cooking. Henry's mom makes an epic meatloaf that everyone raves about... Henry's step-mom went to culinary school and loves using her knowledge... I can't handle regular peanut butter. This brings us to problem number three: pickles. I love Valasic bread and butter pickles. I could eat a whole jar of those particular pickles. And gherkin pickles. My mother in law jars her own pickles from her garden. She sent us home with several jars. Oh no. It's meat loaf all over again. It took me 4+ years to tell her I don't like her meatloaf. Any one want any pickles?

Mrs. Dale, if you read this... I'm sorry I am a picky pickle picker and a meatloaf hater. I promise I am in the minority and probably have broken taste buds.