March 26. Day 85. Me and my big mouth

There are some things you should keep yourself. Some things that are too horrible to ever be voiced. Some skeletons that should be kept in the cupboard. I realise now I was wrong to voice it. That the public had no business knowing this about me, that this is over sharing gone mad. I should never have mentioned it. I opened my big mouth and the phrase "I don't like mashed potato" came out. then I put the other foot in my mouth. That's right, the crime for which I have publically been named and shamed this week is disliking mashed spud. I might as well have said I believe in torturing small furry animals or bringing back Dames and Knights. Apparently, not liking mashed potato makes me not only un-Australian but the product of alien DNA. I'm sorry but it's not my fault. I had a bad childhood, or more specifically I had years of bad mashed potato torture. I admit my memory is almost certainly faulty but my recollection of dinners as a child involved some form on incinerated meat with three watery over cooked vegetables, one of which was always potato. As such, now I am an adult I do not eat meatloaf, shepherd's pie or rissoles nor boiled or mashed veg if I can possibly avoid it. Steamed, stir fried, baked, sauteed, sure. Mashed, no. The weird thing is that I have no such aversion to Vegemite sandwiches despite 12 years of the Vege sanga which had been sitting on a hot port rack for hours before consumption. I still find the Vegemite sandwich on fresh white bread to be an ultimate comfort food. As always, I am a contradiction. So I guess this crow deserves to be stoned or at least learn to keep her big mouth shut. In any event, if I keep my lips tightly closed no-one can force feed me mashed potato ...