I SWEAR I'M NOT A PICKY EATER

Our apartment smells like eggs. I'm not alarmed however. I cooked omelets for dinner. (I also burned them but I don't think anyone should hold that against me). The point is is that my house smells like eggs. Most of you who know me, know that eggs and I don't get along. We never have and I don't think we ever will. Tonight I decided I wanted waffles, bacon and I would cook Michael a few eggs. The bacon didn't survive the years it was apparently kept in the Hyatt family freezer, so in the garbage it went and I was left with just waffles and eggs. I decided that I could attempt to try them again. It only seemed fair since it had been quite the long sabbatical between the two of us. Michael ate most half of it until he lovingly informed me of it's burnt condition on the bottom. I made another one. I tried it. It wasn't bad. Not my favorite though. I had added tomatoes and turkey to try and mask the taste. Tomatoes are another food that I haven't gotten along with my whole life. These past few years, however, we have made amends. Ask my mom, college roommates, mission companions and Michael and they may all tell you of my list I have created of "non-edible foods." They may tell you something like the following:

• oatmeal
• raisins
• eggs
• tomatoes*
• hot dogs
• onions*
• pancakes
• salad*
  
• blueberries**
• peppers**
• cauliflower
• almonds
• fish
• shrimp*
• mustard
• black licorice
• mayonnaise
  

The ones that have asterisks by them, I have finally overcome and now can bring myself to eat. Go me!

P.S.

Dear Mom,
I am sincerely apologetic for all of the mornings in grade school when I put my oatmeal in the garbage/dog's mouth/garbage disposal/brother's bowl/behind the bottom drawer in the kitchen.

Love,
Julie