Sandy and Martin were, by all appearances, a happy couple. They had similar interests, their world views were virtually alike, they were hopelessly attracted to each other, and they neither ever tired of the other’s company. They seemed to be as happy as could be…….but for one horrible point of contention.
Martin loved pickles. Anything pickled, really. Cukes, beets, eggs, chicken feet, mango, you name it. If it’s soaked in brine, Martin would shove it down her throat.
Sandy, on the other hand, was the sane half of the two. He was thoroughly disgusted by pickled anything. If he had so much as a bite of pickle in, say, a burger, his appetite would be completely destroyed. Pickles are abhorrent to him. They are his nemesis.
This was all discussed between Sandy and Martin early on, that’s why Sandy was so shocked and hurt when Martin completely ignored his feelings. How, you ask? By consuming a Kosher Dill and then kissing Sandy immediately afterward.
A pickle kiss.
Sandy began retching and vomiting during the kiss, a feeling that did not pass for several hours. It wasn’t just the taste of pickle itself that made him ill. It was the bitterness of Martin’s betrayal. Martin knew of Sandy’s strong anti-pickle feelings but chose to expose him to them anyway.
Sandy had placed a clause in their prenuptial agreement in case of just such an occurrence, so the marriage was dissolved soon after. He’s a sadder man for it but felt he had no choice. And Martin? To this day, she can’t understand “what the big deal is”. Really Martin? Really?