I hate peas. I always have. When I was 4, my second cousin taught me to shovel a few peas in my mouth and then follow them with either 1) a huge gulp of milk that would just slide those puppies through without my having to really "deal" with them or 2) lots and lots of ketchup to hide the taste/texture, to my mother's eternal humiliation.

Family holidays now resound with the teasing refrain "What are we having for dinner? Peas! Kristin loves peas!" It's all very funny. Dinah sent this along, and it immediately resounded with me, for obvious reasons:

... the last dish I cooked to eat was pretty crass, just some microwaved hot water that I threw frozen peas into and when the peas were hot I ate those with a slotted spoon. I figured the peas had nutrition but I looked them up on Google and peas ain't got zick-dack for my dang endoplasmic reticulum to pass around. My endoplasmic reticulum is like "why did you eat peas." Like it is kind of bored and does not look up from its newspaper.
roast beef