what's the deal, pickle?

Sometimes things happen to me that just make me want to cry. Like, sit in the middle of wherever I am and bawl. Call me overdramatic, I don't care. (Actually, I do, and if you said that to my face, I'd probably collapse in a heap at your feet and commence the over-emoting.)

Anyway. I remember once hearing my mother say, "You know, Autumn and I just think everything bad happens to us. Everything bad really does happen to Summer."

Honestly. If there is a hole to fall in, a banana peel to trip over, or a bucket to step in, I will surely be the one to provided unintended comic relief.

The other day, I went to the grocery store after work. It was pouring down rain, but I brave those falling drops to purchase some pantry essentials. While shopping, a jar of pickles caught my eye. I haven't had pickles in so long! I thought. I picked up a jar and went about my way.

When I got home, it was still raining, and I had several bags. I pulled out my trusty umbrella and walked over the passenger side to retrieve my wares. As I turned one way, I noticed a box of pasta fall out. I hastily picked it up and turned to get my other bags. Then I heard the sound of glass splintering. What the hell was that? I thought. I turned around, wondering what would make such a noise.

It was my brand-new jar of pickles, lying naked on the grass, surrounding by the glass that once held them safely.

This was one of those moments where I wanted to cry. I felt so bad leaving them there, all alone on the sidewalk.

I think a dog came by and ate them one day. At least somebody benefitted from my misfortune.



I returned to the a scene a day later, prepared to mourn.