Insecure Writer's Support Group...The Sausage Incident.

It is that time again folks where we release our fear and insecurities to the world about writing, publishing  and all that other jazz. Of course, I am not a writer-hahaha! but the wonderful Alex J Cavanaugh, who spearheards this IWSG, has graciously said that I can join in on the merriment so I have been doing just that.

I can say that if ever you feel like giving up, let this true story be a lesson in stubbornness. So without further ado, let me start my story of the ...(hear the doom, doom doom music and you must hear that title in a baritone that echoes) THE SAUSAGE INCIDENT!

I was a sweet (HA!) blond, blue-eyed lass of about 7, maybe younger, who knew what she liked and what she didn't. I did not like sausage and, in fact, still hate sausage to this day (get your minds out of the gutter). Even the look of them makes me think of fat slime greasy things...you know, like Donald Trump. We always had family dinners and there was just the 4 of us-we were like the typical family from happyland (again HA!). Our Dining area was right beside the kitchen with a counter separating the two areas. My mom was making the dinner and we all sat down in our usual spots to begin eating. At that moment, my mom placed an ugly sausage on my plate. I looked down at this, this thing from another horror show and looked up at her with disgust. My mom thought it was time again to let me try the greasy, fatty thing called a sausage to see if I would open up my realm of food and give this piece of crap a try.  She looked at me and said in a nice calm voice, "Birgit, give it a try, you might find you like it now."  I looked at her wondering what drug she was on believing she has been replaced by a pod and my real mom had been snatched away. I replied, "I don't like it, I don't want it!" ( yes I was such a sweetie).  My mother calmly tried to talk to me believing her words would entice me to eat that grease slick called meat on my plate. I just replied "I don't like it. I don't want it." She took the plate away and cut up the piece of crap thinking this would entice me even more. I just glared at her thinking she wanted to change  me into some strange girl who always agrees with what she says (that'll never happen). She now had developed a certain, shall we say, edge in her voice and said I should give it a try because "one never knows until one tries something." I folded my arms and repeated my saying. She nudged the plate closer to me so I could smell the vial stench and, as any good brat will do, I pushed the plate back and said "I don't like it, I don't want it!" Now my mom, who usually made food that my brother and I would eat and usually would not push the topic, must have had a bad day or maybe I was her bad day, because she suddenly got very angry and in a voice only mothers can do, told me I must take a bite of this sausage. I started to cry and told her I don't like it and will not eat it.  She threw up her arms and said loudly that she has no idea what she will do with me walking around the counter to the kitchen area.

My dad finally piped in and with his loud voice said, "Ruth! Don't force her, let her eat what she wants. Birgit, What would you like to eat?" I answered, "Chocolate ice cream!" My dad chimed back, "Ruth, get her some chocolate ice cream!" With that, my mom totally flipped her lid, could not utter a word but just high pitched sounds, came back towards me. I realized that the chocolate ice cream stunt went a bit too far as the devil that was formally my mom, picked up a fork, stabbed the greasy gunk off my plate, pulled my hair back and tried to ram that sausage down my throat. Now you would think, by this point I would give in, but you are wrong,  By Grabthar's hammer, I refused to open my mouth as the slimy mass went all over my face. My mother, normally very sweet and truthfully a wonderful mom, went further into cuckoo's nest territory, and plugged my nose thinking I would open my mouth. I was on to her for, you see, I saw an I Love Lucy episode where Ricky tried to force feed Lucy, so I did the exact same thing Lucy did and just opened my lips slightly but had my teeth clamped down tighter than a monkey's butt.

With that, my mom threw the fork down on the plate, my dad told my mom she was a wild woman and to calm down and I was victorious since I did not taste that vile fatty thing called a sausage. Yes, you can say I am stubborn and yes, I did put a few grey hairs on my mom's head, but rest assured, you can also say I never gave up!  Never give up-never surrender!