From 01/2006: The Picked Sausage Deceit

Before you read this, I must say that my taste buds have changed since I wrote this in 2006. I no longer crave this, but I still think the blog is hilarious.

Because this blog in public, I have been debating for days as to whether I would post this. My embarrassment for the following confession has almost made me back out. But I must. I must post this for all the people who, like me, are deceivers. This is for all those who bear the shame that I endure every few months. This is for: the pickled sausage cravers. I confessed my love of pickled sausage to a group at work and to my husband (we have been together 13 years and married 8.5). I love pickled sausage more than any other food. I have always had an obsession with tangy, twangy, hot, spicy food. There are times that I absolutely crave them. I have a favorite brand, which have about 3 types that I enjoy. I know the convenience stores that carry them. I know which stores carry which type. After the last tangy morsel, the juice left in the bottom is like my dessert. Just thinkin of it makes my mouth water. I love them. However, much to my dismay- my love of pickled sausage is not socially acceptable. The pleasant smell I so enjoy, is pungent the noses of most people. My husband can barely stand to be in the car with me when I eat, what he calls, the stink weiny. I really began to suspect that only a few people in the world were like me when I started getting questions at the convenience store counters from the cashiers. At least 10 times, I have had them ask me (with noses wrinkled, like they had a turd on their upper lips), 'are those good?'. The first time I saw the expression on their face and the disgusted tone in their voice, I knew. I knew that it could never be known to these people that I was the consumer of this weiny from hell. So, my deceit began at one of the Diamond Shamrocks (now Valero) I frequented. When asked the 'are those good?' question, I began telling them that they were not for me. Many times I told them, in a quick and disgusted manner, that they were not for me, but for my grandpa (God rest his soul). Many times, I would simply look at them with a look of surprise, as if to say 'you think I would eat the crap?'. I have to tell the lies most every time. People were so turned off by them, that I could not allow them to think that I would put them in my body. Thankfully, I have discovered that Wal Mart sells them in a gallon jar for about five dollars. I feel liberated that I can go to the checkout with a basket full of groceries and the jar just blends in. I like the fact that they probably think I am buying the big jar for the convenience store or dive bar that I may own. Why else would anyone in their right mind buy a gallon jar of vomit in casings? Because I need to replenish my stock every few weeks, I have to go to a different Wal Mart the each time. I cannot have those Wal Mart checkers judging me. I will say, that my consumption over the past year has decreased. My shame overwhelms me at times, so I simply do not indulge. I just wanted to get this out in the open so that other closet-stink-weiny-eaters do not have to think that they are alone. You are not alone. We are all in this world, packed together like pickled meat in a casing.