Most of my mom’s dinners involved peas and mashed potatoes.
And when the two mixed, I refused to eat them.
I did not like the mushy potatoes clinging to my peas and I did not like the surprise of a crunchy pea in my potatoes.
To which my mom always said the same thing:
“Eat it. It all goes to the same place.”
Being four, I had no comeback.
And that is this:
When we as a family all drove somewhere on vacation, we did not pick up homeless hitchhikers.
Even if we were all headed to the same place.
So take that, mom.
Thirty-eight years later.