I don’t like peas. Never have. As a child, I would eat everything on my plate but the peas. By then, the peas were cold and even grosser than ever. Mom wanted me to eat them anyway. Parents can be so cruel.
Playing with my food rather than eating it, I took my forefinger and squished a pea. Then another. And another. As I saw the flattened green pancakes, it dawned on me that if I squashed all my peas, they would appear to be gone so I kept squishing every last one with my finger. When Mom returned from doing the dishes, she was not impressed.
From that point on, every time there were peas on my plate, a pea massacre occurred. It was actually amusing to apply pressure and watch the skin burst open and the pea guts pop out. Yes, I was in trouble but fortunately, Mom realized I wasn’t an otherwise finicky eater so she stopped forcing them on me. She allowed for the fact that everyone has one or two foods they simply don’t like. The battle of the peas was over.
I’m telling you this so if you invite me over for dinner you’ll know what to expect if you serve peas.