Dear Celery,
I hate you. I have tried for many years to be tolerant, but I finally understand that I am unable to come to terms with your acerbic crunch. Your raw bitter burst offends my sensibilities. For a time, I thought I could at least stand your presence in soups or stews with your most noxious qualities boiled out of you. I was mistaken. Your flavor pervades and anything you are a part of becomes less desirable as a result. I regret that it had to come to this, but I must abandon any semblance of civility toward you. This is war, Celery.
Sincerely,
Pam
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Gah! Who puts celery in fried rice? I have lost a battle in this war.
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