In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Night and Day.”
Today’s post is going to be a little dorky, fair warning.
So the first thing that came to mind when reading this, was my experiences with mashed potatoes. The first time I ever had the ability to consume potatoes that had been boiled and mushed together was when I was five or six. The setting; my great grandmother’s house. The context; my great uncle had slopped a spoonful of pungant smelling white mush on my plate, and I knew I was going to be forced to eat it. Before anyone could force me to consume the blob on my plate I went ahead and tried a bite, and this is what I experienced; the forkful hit my tongue, burning it, and in an attempt to remove the molten lava that was mashed potato from my mouth I jerked the fork out of my mouth and slit the side of my tongue open. From here, I did NOT enjoy the taste of potatoes that had way too much salt, an open wound in my mouth that was bleeding (which didn’t help the taste), and a frankly unpleasant burning sensation. Even though I refused to try any form of potatoes (excluding french fries) for four or five years, I finally got up the courage to try the mashed variety again, and of course they were the delicious and buttery amazingness that are mashed potatoes.