In a Pickle

I've got two stories to rewrite and one's due tomorrow. So what am I doing here, you ask?
Making an online confession. Well, a couple of 'em. One being that my eyes glaze over every time I try to dive back into one of these stories, and it doesn't help that I can hear a group of people brainstorming an ad in the conference room.

"How about, 'Technicolor's Back'�" Or "Technicolor for the 21st Century'?!" Or "The Advanced Science of Color'?!" Or "Advanced Ionic Science'?!"

How about, PIPE DOWN?! Okay, I'm being mean. My ego is shot to Hell. I left my thick skin in Denton.

So, on to my second confession: I've had an unusual appetite for pickles ever since I was a little kid. Give me a jar of Claussen's and I will devour them one by one until they are all gone. As a kid, I got into the habit of salting dill pickles. This is best with whole pickles, because they're juicier. And my friends and I would sneak little sips of pickle juice from the jar. With pickle halves, I like to eat the seeds first, running my teeth along the top until the half is hollow. I'm not sure why I get these pickle cravings. This isn't something that happens every day, more like once a month. Maybe my mom ate a lot of pickles when she was pregnant with me. Maybe I'm just a freak. Maybe I have some sort of vitamin deficiency. Anyway, you think I'm a freak now. I know you do.


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