Ok, I know there are probably people being tortured, seriously tortured, right now as I write this. Probably thousands of people, maybe hundreds of thousands.
But I'd like to talk about torture on a much more trivial scale. And that is the torture caused to me every time I walk into the Harvard Square Subway Station. You see, last week somebody approved a new vendor in the station. This vendor sells hot dogs and sausages, the ones that you can smell from a block away. The ones that have you drooling late at night when you've had a few drinks and nothing to eat and all you want is a hot dog or a sausage with grilled onions from the street cart.
And if you know me you know that one of my most favorite things to eat are hot dogs. And you ALSO know that last week is when I found out that I'm pregnant. It's like someone said "Emsky is pregnant and isn't allowed to eat hot dogs anymore- so let's torture her by making the entire subway station smell like them from now on."
I tell you, it's torture. T-O-R-T-U-R-E. And once again, I'm sure someone is laughing. But it's not me- it's hard to laugh when you're holding your nose so that you don't have to smell the loveliness that are hot dogs and sausages with grilled onions.