Never Mind Your Peas

I don't like peas. References to peas are okay, like two peas in a pod or "peas on earth" (heh-heh), but the pea itself, blech. I like cartoon peas, you know, when they have little faces and possibly arms and legs or maybe they're just rolling along and smiling. Those peas look friendly and harmless. The peas I despise are the sneaky ones who appear in a spoonful of pot pie or leap onto your tongue from a forkful of otherwise delicious tuna noodle casserole. The soft mushy characters who linger in soups and team up with cooked carrots to ruin a vegetable medley. The sickly green fellas who split themselves in half and pour their guts into the worst soup ever invented. Not even ham can save it. Peas in a can are the worst. As an adult, I'm expected to tolerate more foods, be adventurous, stop making faces. In light of my new maturity, I've decided to rank the types of peas I know from barely edible to hell no:

Will eat:
1. Pea pods. The thick outer layer and crunch sound masks the inner pea. Good with rice.
2. Frozen peas. Well, I won't eat them but I will use them to reduce swelling.

Might attempt to eat:
1. Frozen peas that have helped me heal. They should be thawed by then.
2. A fresh pea that can be poked with a fork and retains its spherical shape.
3. Casseroles with peas in them because you can pretty much spot them and pick them out.
4. Pot pies with a reduced pea count.
5. Cooked rice with peas in it. See number 3.

Refuse to eat:
1. Peas from a can. Yes, I already tried them.
2. Pea soup.
3. Split pea soup.
4. Other soups with peas in them (except Meggie's beef barley! yum! I don't even notice the peas...).
5. Peas with faces, arms or legs.

I'm not afraid of peas, so don't go calling Fear Factor. Like most people, if there's money at stake I'll do what needs to be done. If it were up to me, though, the pea would be long gone by now. Not an option. Simply eliminated. Think of the hops, barley and tobacco we could grow instead! Peas are for babies and the elderly. I'm in the middle. Forget you, pea. Maybe I'll see you in another 40...until then, you know where we stand.