"Mmmmm Okra! Omnomnomnom!" - the Wombat
A while back I mentioned that my better half - the Wombat - wrote a hilarious love letter to okra. Here it is! Enjoy:
Pickled Okra: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Long Distance Relationship
Walking through the grocery store is always a
heart-wrenching experience, knowing that I’ll catch a glimpse of you high on a
shelf in the pickle isle stoically occupying your tiny spot like a sentinel. Oh
my pickled okra, as I sit and reflect on our delicious history together, I
realize that there must have been a time that we didn’t know each other. And
yet, that’s so hard to imagine! As long as I can remember you’ve always been
there, though mostly at a distance, like a well-loved uncle who also just so
happens to be a mid-tier celebrity that travels more than stays at home. Always
too expensive to actually be with you, but hyper aware of your presence
wherever I go.
Your label has been crafted into a face of comfort for
those that know your inner zest, yet somehow common enough that you blend in
unassumingly with the crowd. You have no need to bring awareness to yourself
more than you do, because you’re an underground success. You have no need to
show off or catch anyone’s eye, nor do you make yourself more important than
you actually are. And to me, that’s one of your best qualities. I can imagine
that you’re there for me; just me, you, and the memories that we’ve had. And
sometimes that’s enough.
Other times though, that’s not enough at all. I long for
the cool touch of the glass jar that surrounds your true desirability. I ache
for the soft gasp of air as the vacuum seal is broken with a steady counter
clockwise twist to your golden lid. The burst of salivation as the aroma of
your fermented spiced brine reaches my nose, like a salty dill perfume, causing
my mind to reel as I so willingly recount our times together. The liquid that
is your brine reminds me of the many tears we’ve shed for one another in what
seems like eons since our last one-on-one connection.
But most of all, I hurt for that soft texture as I sink
our teeth in to the present moment with you, as we mingle the remembered with
the new. It’s only the two of us now, reliving so many fond memories, just as
we create new chapters in our long history together. Your soft and beautiful
skin that hides an equally beautiful inside. A deeper core that pops with new
and hidden excitement for life within every opened seed. I know these flavors
have been kept hidden from the world; that this experience is just for me.
Yes, sometimes it’s okay watching you at arms distance as
you follow your dreams of niche success. It’s okay to ache a little as you wear
your outer shell for the rest of the world, even if you never reach the
widespread appeal that so drives you. But at other times, I need you here in my
hands. I need your smell, your touch, and the salt that speaks so loudly of
your experiences. But I’ve also learned that the distance makes every encounter
a special treat. And while I wish we could always be together, maybe it’s the
distance that has made our love grow so strong in the first place.
- Love,
The Wombat
