I wasn’t going to put up this post until I had a chance to redo the drawings, but I don’t have anything else ready to go, so you’ll have to suffer through it.
Also, one of my coworkers (who’s about 50) is blasting Beck’s “We Got a Timebomb.” It’s weird, and it’s only 9:50 a.m. I think it’s going to be a long day.
A few people have asked me about the name of my blog. Both the “peas” and “cougars” refer to things in my childhood. The peas because I hated them (and still do).
My mom loved to make peas though even though she knew I hated them, so I would have to constantly figure out new ways to get the peas off of my plate without eating them.
I did the trick every kid thinks of — making a little hole in the middle of the pile of peas.
But that trick only worked a few times. I also tried putting the peas in my napkin or in my mouth, running to the bathroom, and spitting them out in the toilet, but there was only so many times I could excuse myself without drawing suspicion.
Eventually though, I thought of my best idea yet.
All I had to do was find a place to put the peas that didn’t link the peas back to me.
You might think I’ve outgrown my childish hatred for peas, but I haven’t. The other day I ordered a chicken pot pie at a cafe and before I could eat it I had to pick all the peas out and put them in a little pile on my plate (I forgot chicken pot pies had so many peas).
I really hate peas.