Bitch to the peas.

Bitch to the peas                        
There is a dreaded four letter word.
And it is a vegetable.
I have for the majority of my adult life passed on peas.
The smell from an open can of peas is just nauseating.
They were the vegetable of choice when I was growing up.
If there was a meal of meat, starch, and vegetables, you bet we would be eating peas.
I am a fan of lettuce and corn and broccoli and really most leafy items.
Peas and their color and smell usually came out of a can that was soaked in some yellowish gelatinous froth and served that way... They were the side you had to eat.
They would roll around on my plate as if to run from the gravy or mixtures that you might try to wash it down with.
It was inevitable that one had to bite and chew those dreaded small green balls.
I couldn’t even entice the dog under the table with them.
Perhaps a fancy chef would be able to swing me into loving them again.
But for the most part I never buy or want to see them ever again in my lifetime.
That is enough of my rant on peas.
All that canned goodness is out the door.
I’ll pass on peas, please.
There is always salad,salad,salad.