Pickle phobia

So, I have a thing about pickles. And the thing is, I hate them. It's something about the way they are crunchy and mushy and wart-y and dill-y and pickley. I won't eat anything they come into contact with (seeing as they contaminate all that they touch.) I make Jon remove them from my plates at diners, and I won't even get near a chicken salad unless I'm sure it's 100 % pickle free. Even as a child, I removed them from my Chick-fil-a sandwiches and cheeseburgers. I kinda shudder when they come near me.

(Don't believe me? Jess Fig and Plum recently captured my animosity toward all things pickled. I am NOT as phobic as this woman, who was exploited on Maury Povich's show.)

I was shocked, therefore, when I came home from work some weeks back and found a box filled with pickle-themed products from my friends at Knit Picks! There was a pickle Christmas tree ornament, a bottle of cornichons (with a vile PICKLE scooper), a pickle-colored skein of Knit Picks Palette and sad pickle stitch marker. First, I figured I might vomit. Then, I thought, is this a practical joke? I threw out the cornichons because I couldn't sleep with them in the house, and I hid the other items until I could properly confront them.

I learned that, in fact, the Knit Picks people were actually being nice. The Christmas pickle is apparently a tradition among some people, and other folks were delighted about making them.

But not me.

Instead, I made lemonade out of lemon. (NOT pickle juice out of pickles. Blech, ugh, pickle juice.) I chose the slouchy Porom pattern from Brooklyn Tweed. Delightful!

thanks jess fig and plum for more pictures

And a deadpan shot, because I love deadpan shots and because that's how I feel about pickles.