Sunday, December 14, 2008

Snook No More

A quick follow-up to my previous post, which concerns the markers that one can take as proof that he or she has progressed away from childhood. I thought of another one: the day I realized my fingers had grown too large to fit inside cocktail olives.



Words can’t express how difficult this realization was for me.

2 comments:

  1. The good news for you and your youth is that it's usually a green olive that's a cocktail olive--the black olive, as pictured, goes in a relatively rare Buckeye Martini. You're not from Ohio, are you?

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  2. Ohio? God no.

    Perhaps I mean normal, black olives then. Either way, my adult sausage fingers don't fit anymore.

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