by waaytoomuchintothis » Mon Jan 27, 2014 12:23 am
In 1965, I had the unique priviledge of having haggis sprung on me by a Scot neighbor. I thought it had gone bad and the lady who made it for us especially didn't know how vomitable it was. She served herself some (which was even more awful looking than mine), and she gobbled it up. She kept saying that if I like oatmeal, I'd like haggis. I was 15, and full of noble spirit, so I finished the horrid filthy stuff. The lady apparently could see that I was forcing myself to eat it, and the next day when I came in from school, she had left a huge cake at the house with instructions that it was all for me.