Second Helpings

The Curious Incident of the Olives in the Night Time

One thing I always purchase when my sister stays over is a jar of olives. I can’t stand the things, but she’ll eat them anywhere, anytime, in any number. We generally put together a few night time nibbles, including the olives and other pickles.

On Wednesday around midnight, after hubby had decided to go to bed; I prepared the plates and dishes of snacks. I sieved the onions and gherkins, removed them from their respective jars and put them in the appropriate compartmentalised dish. Unfortunately, as I was sieving the olives, the jar caught the side of the sink and shattered. I cleared up all the visible glass, but in order to ensure there was none inside the now jagged–edged olive jar, I emptied them out, rinsed them several times, and then put half in the pickle dish and the rest back in the empty gherkin jar, carefully disposing of the broken olive container.

Next morning, sis got up before me and was given the third degree by hubby. Apparently, the sight of the remaining olives in a gherkin jar had totally bewildered him and his highly-tuned detective skills went into overdrive. Where had I got the olives from? Why hadn’t I used the already open jar of olives in the fridge? What had happened to the olive jar? Why was there half a container of olives in a gherkin jar? He was obviously baffled by this very serious and life-altering occurrence. Sis told him she wasn’t sure, but vaguely remembered me breaking a jar. She also had to hide the smirk threatening to attach itself to her face at the thought of her own husband even noticing a six-foot olive tree appearing in the kitchen, let alone a few stray olives in an alien jar.

When I got up and hubby thought it safe enough to discuss the issue, the interrogation continued.

‘Why didn’t you use the olives already in the fridge?’

‘Well, frankly my dear, I’m not telepathic and didn’t think to look in there as it’s not very often we keep olives. Anyway, I wouldn’t have known how long they’d been in the fridge and wouldn’t want to give my sis past-their-sell-by-date olives.’ A fair explanation wouldn’t you think?

‘Then where did you get the olives from?’

‘Well, much as I’d liked to have nipped over to Greece and picked fresh ones, they actually came out of a jar in the cupboard.’

‘But, I didn’t know there were any in the cupboard. Where did they come from?’

‘’Well, unless it’s a trick question, I’d very much suspect the supermarket.’

‘When did we buy those then?’

‘Believe it or not, I haven’t kept a record of our olive-purchasing habits, but possibly you forgot we had them. It has been known for things to slip your memory when you get over-excited about a bargain on the shelves. Hence the ten cans of baked beans cluttering up the shelf.’

‘So what happened to the jar?’

‘I accidentally broke it in the sink. Don’t worry, I’ve cleared up all the glass, recited my five Hail Mary’s asking for forgiveness and not one olive was harmed in the process.’

‘But why are they in a gherkin jar?’

‘Given the choice of binning them, eating them, putting them in a casserole or safely in a different jar, I chose the latter. Is there a problem with that?’

Hubby gives me a funny look, humphs and shakes his puzzled head. Later in the afternoon, sis and I are quite staggered when he remarks...

'I still don't understand about those olives in the gherkin jar.'

Virtually the same question and answer session ensues. Whether there’s a hidden agenda behind his line of inquiry or if he maybe suspects some hunky Greek God delivered the olives and more to us after midnight on that sinful night I’m not sure. We should be so lucky.

On Thursday around midnight, after hubby had decided to go to bed; I prepared the plates and dishes of snacks yet again. I emptied all the remaining olives out of the jar in the fridge and from the gherkin jar into the pickle dish and sis scoffed the lot. Much later, feeling a little inebriated and daring, we spied the now empty olive jar. We filled it with the remaining onions and gherkins and then for good measure we popped in a couple of raspberries from the fruit carton in the fridge, screwed on the lid and left it out on the kitchen surface. If Sherlock needed another mystery to solve, then we were quite happy to provide one.

I’m still awaiting the court case, verdict and sentence.