Pickles

There were two pickles left in the jar.  Samantha had already had pickles today, so we agreed that Simon and Seth would each get one of the last remaining pickles. They were the runts of the jar.

All four of us were standing in the kitchen. Seth declared that he would be the jar opener, and as soon as he had his hands on the jar, we all knew this had gone badly awry. His hands were shaking, his eyes were wild, and he was glaring at Simon. My hands were in the dirty dishes. “Seth, wait!”

He yanks that jar open, plunges his tiny fist into the pickle juice, and brings up both pickles. He discards the jar on Samantha. All in the time it takes to blink.

I’m trying to grab him, and Simon is screaming, “NOOOOOOO!!!!!”

Seth sinks his teeth into both pickles, ripping a bite out of each. He shows Simon the bit off ends, with a loud, “HMPH!” as he chows down on the enormous amount of pickle in his mouth.

Simon falls to the floor, weeping and wailing, while Seth struts and hmphs and postures, eating those pickles like a wood chipper gnaws through timber.

Seth doesn’t even LIKE pickles. But apparently, soaked in the brine of his brother’s tears, they are DELICIOUS!