On Being Gaslighted by Black Olives
Am I losing my olives?!
According to Urban Dictionary, gaslighting is “a form of intimidation or psychological abuse…where false information is presented to the victim making them doubt their own memory, perception , and, quite often their sanity.”
I’m not a connoisseur so I’m referring to the average cans of sliced black olives found in basically any store that offers food everywhere. I love black olives! Most of my dinners have a sprinkling of the little round slices either in the meal or on top.
Any time I am out shopping, which isn’t often, I will pick up 2 or 3 cans of sliced black olives. If I am ordering for delivery, which isn’t often, I’ll add 1 or 2 cans to my order. Like any other groceries, they are put away in their allotted place in the pantry every time. I will make some kind of casserole and add ONE can of black olives to the dish. That dish will be finished a few days later, I go to make something else, I reach for a new can of black olives…and there aren’t any.
I KNOW I bought more than one can the last time I shopped. I only add one can to a casserole if I am putting the olives straight into the dish. I don’t top a dish which includes olives with more olives. I like olives, but a girl has to draw the line somewhere.
Yet, with this slow use of olives, I can’t seem to find any extra cans in my pantry. I made my son look. Without telling my daughter that my son already looked, I made my daughter double check. Neither of them found olives. Of course, they also run around the house screaming, “Where are my keys?” 5 minutes later than when they were both supposed to leave for work, so maybe I’m putting my trust in not the best of choices. However, in their defense, this has been going on for the last several months with no varying results. No cans of black olives are found in the pantry.
I can only surmise that the cans of black olives are having a party in my pantry and aren’t ready to leave yet. They are hiding themselves among fun cans of French cut green beans and cans of cream of chicken soup. Once we humans give up looking through the pantry and shut the door, they go back to their gab fest.
Meanwhile, I’ve developed an eye twitch, and the carpet is showing off a trench pattern from where I have been pacing trying to count backward the weeks to remember how many cans of black olives I’ve used.
