Three-Thirty

So I was sleeping soundly, I think, last night when I woke up wanting an olive or three. As I was standing there in front of the open fridge door, some questions came to mind.

Not the logical questions you might expect from a finely tuned mind such as mine: “Why did I wake up?” “Why Olives?” “Could this mean I am pregnant?”

Nooo, not those questions. These were much more insidious. Questions like: “Why these stupid skinny bottles you can’t get a spoon in?” “Who decided man should eat bitter, half ripe fruit?” “Red and green, should these be Christmas food?” “What madman said “Hey, let’s rip the seeds out and stuff these little red things in.’?” “What the hell is a pimento anyway?”