Our family friends grow strawberries. Lots and lots of strawberries. A couple days ago they let my mom know that if we wanted to come pick them, we could keep whatever we picked. When mom asked if that was something I'd be interested in, of course I agreed. First of all, I was high on farm life. Being home after being away for 6 months made anything having to do with fruit, the smell of farm equipment burning gasoline, or slight manual laborer throw me into excitement overload. Plus I could think of nothing other than strawberry shortcake. For days. I had never actually been strawberry picking, but I knew that strawberries grew on really tall tree-like bushes like blueberries did, so it was sure to be a pleasant afternoon excursion.
Wrong. Strawberries grow on short little plants very low to the ground. There are tons of them, so when you think you have an area picked, you don't. You push a leaf to the side and 20 more of the stupid berries appear out of nowhere. You are bent over, low to the ground, your back cramping and sweat dripping down your face, neck, back, knee pits, and anywhere else that sweats because of course you decided to come pick the berries in 90 degree heat, and you never quite feel like you're remotely close to being done. I hated this moment with my entire being.
On the way back home, after we loaded our huge pile of strawberries into the car, my mom thanked us for agreeing to come pick them. My response was something along the lines of:
"I almost said 'you're welcome! It was fun!' Because that's what I should say. But it wasn't fun. That sucked butt today."
I got severe stomach cramps from all the strawberry shortcake I ate this week. Like, laid in bed and moaned because my stomach hurt so bad. Stupid strawberries :) 
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