My hands still smell like garlic.
I washed them at least three times last night and again this morning, but as I type, I still catch a whiff. I can’t cook, so I’m often relegated to prep work. I really don’t chop well either, but sometimes I like to help out. I minced garlic last night and it is still with me.
Garlic is super potent and stinky and I should probably stay away, but I can’t. Even though it has caused many a bad breath check or a lingering sniff of “What the hell, still?” I don’t care. Garlic is good for me and the taste is unlike anything else. Everything is better with garlic, so I suppose the good outweighs the bad. The smell is just an inconvenience and the breath is usually cured with a few good brushes or a half a box of mints.
I’m sure there are people that avoid garlic. The smell isn’t worth it for them. Maybe they workout an extra 20 minutes at the gym for bacon or they drink extra water to recover from a bag of chips. We all have something we are willing to compromise, make room or compensate for the pleasure it brings.
Love can be like garlic. It shows up and you know right away. You may see it, or smell it, before you taste, and then it’s like an explosion of flavor.
Love and garlic can be soft and rich or strong and raw, but if garlic is what you are drawn to, you know. Sometimes love sticks with you too and even though it makes no sense, you know you’ll get all stinky again, you go back for more because…well, it’s hard to want anything else now that you’ve tasted garlic.
It’s not for everyone, but my day is better with garlic.
Wow, see what happens when I write love stories with lingering garlic fingers. Odd metaphors and…I’m a little hungry now.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Brush Twice Before Bed.