Somewhere along about seventh grade, a friend asked if I would like to stay for dinner. My mom said, “ok”. I didn’t ask what was for dinner. Liver. I hate liver. Can’t handle the smell or the taste. Torture! Nothing less than torture pretending to eat liver.
Somewhere along about seventh grade, a friend asked if I would like to stay for dinner. My mom said, “ok”. I didn’t ask what was for dinner. Liver. I hate liver. Can’t handle the smell or the taste. Torture! Nothing less than torture pretending to eat liver.