Once, when I was quite young, I hid my peas in a ring around the edge of my plate, hoping my mother would not discouver them. Years later I asked her why she did not say anything, and she replied, "I figured you didn't like them."
My antipathy of peas continued through out my life, and did not deminish over the years. As an adult I did not reform my dislike for the little green round things and I my suspicions about their origins and their purpose on planet earth grew. I started to hold to the belief that peas were infact an alien life form which fomented a sinister plot to make mankind into their puppets. That the actual consumption of peas over a long period of time caused the brain tissue to sofen and become malable. As a result of such exposure, they became pea brains, servants of the great pea pod confederation. An organization which loomed distantly from earth, hidden in a nebula which was so thick, that passing through it was like pea soup.
Though we are taught peas originated in the garden, maturing in the sun and picked like other vegtables in the fall, in actual fact, they desend to earth at night in their pea pod crafts and burrow into the ground, thus desguising themselves as a harmless green shoot.
They begin to send out their tentacles, strangling the daisies, tulips and other colorful characters, forming more pods and enticing humans to sample them. Soon they sweep the planet, convincing human mothers of how good they are for children, pressing their advantage with vegitarians and food pyramid promotions.
The little fellows are green with envey of any other garden produce, squashing squash, slicing through tomatos and poking out potatoe's eyes. It's enough to make one want to scream.
But at least now I have the satisfaction that the little green round aliens did not get me! I was not seduced by their dark green sides and that they were harmlessly disposed of without any more harm was done to the wit of man. I knew them peas were up to something, and I have the satisfaction of out-witting them.
