09 December 2009
It finally happened.
The much-anticipated First Annual Pickle Juice Drinking Event.
Yes. Pickle juice drinking.
For some crazy reason the Keigley children discovered that they enjoy the taste of consuming copious amounts of pickle brine.
Apparently, it's genetic.
Because so does their Aunt Betty Ann.
Once this information was leaked to our children the idea began forming immediately.
Drink pickle juice. With other people who like to drink pickle juice. Profound.
London even wrote a letter to her aunt, requesting that one day they could share some memories over a glass or two of the almost neon-colored stuff.
The stars aligned.
Suddenly, there we were in London, Ohio. Hometown of pickle juice drinking pal Aunt BA.
And she comes over, carrying with her an enormous jar of pickles. Enormous, I tell you.
The Keigley kids take their seats at the table. Glasses in hand. Cousins stop wrestling in the living room to join the pickle drinkers. Strangers enter from the streets. A reporter drags in his camera crew to film for the evening news.
Pickle juice is poured. Glasses are lifted. Toasts are made. "To pickles!"
And the drinking begins.
At the end of the consuming, it is possible that London downed five glasses. I don't know. I didn't count. I didn't really want to be responsible for that knowledge.
I'm afraid a disturbing new tradition has been created.