The Evil Gazpacho

This story happened to me when I was about nine years old. I guess I should preface this story by saying that my mother was and still is one of the biggest health freaks on the planet. Of course, I’ve never appreciated that as much as I’m starting to now…

Well one warm  summer evening, it was decided that our family should eat out on the back deck. This is a tradition in our family when the weather is nice. I don’t recall much about what we actually ate that night, except for the one vile item. GAZPACHO! Gazpacho is, first of all, an actual word. It’s a cold soup that some Spaniards came up with made with ingredients such as stale bread, garlic, olive oil, salt, and vinegar. All blended together in this “soup.” If this somehow doesn’t sound absolutely horrendous to you, then try to remember what your taste buds were like when you were nine.

I tried gulping down a few mouthfuls of the stuff and almost blew everything back up. It was horrible. I tried to tell my mom, but she somehow thought I could deal with it. In fact, she and my dad dictated that until I had finished the whole cup, I couldn’t leave the table. Oh yeah?

Three hours later, there I sat. Staring into the half-empty cup of the vile substance. My family had long since abandoned me to the usual evening activities. I hated that stupid Gazpacho. I tried it again, BLECH!

Something had to be done. Suddenly, a gurgle came from the vomit-looking soup. Out came a voice! “[gurgle/gurgle] David, I don’t like you either, take me over to the edge of the deck and toss me into the bushes.” I considered what the Gazpacho said for quite sometime. I was an honest boy. I really did hate lying, but you should have tasted this stuff. How could anyone think ingesting this was a good idea?

So, after taking a careful look around, I went for it. I walked slowly to the edge of the deck, very aware of my surroundings. I bent down and tossed the Gazpacho underneath the deck so that it would never be discovered. I quickly took my place again at the table. I’d done it! I’d done the deed and gotten away with it. After a few moments, I went inside and reported to mom that I had finished the Gazpacho. She congratulated me and hugged me. It was at this time that my dad came downstairs and reported to my mom his version of the story as reported from the upstairs bathroom window! I was caught!

And so, as I spent the rest of that beautiful evening alone in my room, thinking about what I had done, I could hear a faint laughter, coming from below the deck out back.

Honesty has been a good friend of mine ever since.


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I'm a mixed bag of assorted goodies. More about me here.

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