My walking onions are now flatter than a flitter*.
Every November, my sweetie backs the pick-up truck filled with firewood over my back door garden. This makes sense to him. Driving over any garden never makes sense to me.
Views and opinions. There you have it. He has one view; i have another. We do not agree. Yet we do have communal harmony.
For lunch, i made a squash soup with onions from the back door garden. "What's this?" he asked.
"Squash soup with braised truck tire onions," i said.
*Etymology: German flitter.