The Deficiency

That just looks like a pasta salad. It's really a story about how my husband married a fool.

Roughly a month ago, tacos came up on our menu plan. I like some black olives on my tacos. I don't eat a ton though, and T could take or leave them, so I usually just buy a tiny can of sliced olives.

I zoomed up and down the aisles of my favorite Publix, grabbing this, crossing that off my list. I scooped up a can of olives, popped them into my cart, and went along my merry way.

As it would turn out, apparently they also sell tiny cans of sliced olives with jalapenos. Given that we were having tacos, which include a little heat anyway, from the spices and the salsa, we just upped the ante a little. Not *that* much a big deal.

So when the day-after-day heat squashed my appetite, a nice cool pasta salad sounded so good.

I like some black olives in my pasta salad.

I zoomed up and down the aisles of my favorite Publix, grabbing this, crossing that off my list.

And then I reached the black olives.

I stopped my cart, squatted down (because they keep the tiny cans all the way at the bottom), and really stared, hard. I saw the ones that said "with jalapenos." I gave them a wide berth, because jalapenos would not play with with the flavors of this salad. I pulled a tiny can off the shelf, scanning the label -- once, twice, three times, four -- and it did NOT breathe a word of jalapenos. I placed it carefully in my cart, alongside the other items, and went about the rest of my business, casting a wary glance at that tiny can every so often. A girl is only unsuspectingly burned by unintended jalapenos once, you see.

After I got home and put away the groceries, I began preparing my pasta salad. I put on a pot of water to boil. I mixed up my dressing. I chopped up cucumber and tomato, and cubed up two different kinds of cheese.

And then I opened the tiny can of olives. It was one of those pull-tab lids, so I cracked it just a bit, to drain the liquid more easily. I tilted the can over the sink...and nothing came out. Somewhere between mildly confused and mildly annoyed, I wondered if I had managed to pick up a bad can of olives. I pulled back the tab just a little more and peered inside. The olives had a rough-looking dry-ish texture. With a sigh, I opened the lid all the way and then took another good look at the label.

It did *not* say "with jalapenos," but it *did* say "chopped," instead of "sliced." (It claimed they were chopped, but I believe the word they were going for was "pulverized.")

Like the can before it, I used it anyway.

Apparently, I cannot be trusted to properly shop for sliced black olives. But I sure can make my husband laugh.