The four most commonly eaten vegetables, according to research, are : tomatoes, onions, carrots and peas. Tomatoes, of course, are not vegetables - they are fruits. I do not know why, then, they were included in research regarding the most commonly eaten vegetables. It is just this lack of attention to detail that irks me, but really I ought to let it go because there are more important things to fret about in life than categorising tomatoes.
Anyway, I can see why these four are popular. I love tomatoes, peas and onions. I am less in love with carrots unless they are caramelised in sugar and butter which doesn’t happen very often, given I am now entering Month 7 of the Great Fat Drop and I don’t intend to scupper the hard work of the previous six months by scoffing buttery sugary carrots. Home grown carrots, fresh from the ground, are excellent, of course. But supermarket ones always taste slightly soapy to me.
When I was in the first, or maybe second, year of primary school - so I’d have been 5 or 6 years old - our teacher tasked us with drawing a picture to illustrate a rhyme that she gave each of us that was linked to our name. So, for example, Bobby Payne Went to Spain in a Chocolate Aeroplane. Bobby would then be expected to draw a picture of himself in a plane made from chocolate, presumably under a beating sun to represent Spain. Maybe the aeroplane could be melting a bit, to show that Bobby understood the adverse effect of heat on chocolate. Maybe, if he was geographically astute, he’d have drawn an outline of Spain, or the Spanish flag. I don’t know - I didn’t look because I was too busy crafting my own picture.
Which was based on the rhyme : Greedy Denise Ate A Hundred Peas.
Now, if I wasn’t already aware of being a bit on the fat side at that age, I certainly remember this occasion as being a pivotal point for realising I looked different to the other girls in my class. I remember the picture I drew. I pictured myself wearing a large oval dress, presumably to cover my tubby tum. And I also remember drawing exactly 100 peas in a meticulous pile beside the figure that represented me. I drew them in a neat pyramid shape and as I coloured them in, I counted them again to make sure there was definitely 100. Attention to detail, you see. Accuracy. Emerging autistic tendencies.
I took the finished picture to show the teacher. She looked at it. She said, ‘That’s not 100 peas. Go and draw some more.’
The teacher, the adult who should have known more than me, the mere child, was wrong. There WERE 100 peas in that pyramid. I would not have presented her with a picture containing anything more or less than the 100 pea brief. That’s what I am like. If someone asks me for something specific, specific is what they get. Why would I short change them? Why did this teacher think I would be so slap dash with my work? But in those days you didn’t argue with adults. So I returned to my table, hot with blushing embarrassment and crestfallen. But I can’t remember if I added any more peas to the pile.
I like to think I remained determined and true to myself. I knew there were 100 peas. Why was I being told I was wrong? Perhaps I was wrong? Why was I doubting myself? Perhaps that is where I started to learn to distrust authority and rely on my own common sense? Something must have embedded itself in my psyche, though, because I remember that incident of 50 years ago so clearly. It has certainly left me with the feeling that the only person I can trust is myself.
Thankfully, I wasn’t put off peas! They remain one of my favourite vegetables. Especially with a dash of mint.
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KJ