I tried gizzards

My husband loves gizzards.  Seriously.  Loves them.  He makes them for himself as a treat quite often.  Every time, he asks me - "Would you like some gizzards?"  My reply - "No thank you, I don't like gizzards."  Of course, he's called my bluff repeatedly and asked me if I've ever tried them.  No, I haven't.  What am I, six years old??  You truly have no right to say you don't like something if you've never tried it!  Well, I didn't want to try gizzards.  They look nasty.  They smell nasty.  The thought of them is nasty.  Surely, then, they taste nasty.

I don't know exactly what happened, but one day I committed to Mark that I would try gizzards.  I wanted him to do something, and he said he would do it if the next time he made gizzards, I would try them.  I don't recall what the "something" was, but I must have wanted it done really badly, because I agreed!  So, that's how I got roped into trying gizzards.

Well, the day arrived that Mark decided to make himself a gizzard treat.  Oh crud.  I was committed.  He got them ready in his pressure cooker ... that's how he cooks them ... and, I must admit, things actually looked promising.  He puts fresh rosemary, bacon, onion, and jalepenos in with them.  "The pot" actually looked kind of pretty.

Getting the gizzard pot ready - it doesn't look sooooooo bad.

After a short bit, the gizzards were ready.  It was time.  I could avoid it no longer. 

Ummmm ... not looking quite so appetizing now.

So, I put my big-girl pants on and cut myself off a bite.  Just a bite - let's not get crazy here!  Well, my suspicions were confirmed - I absolutely don't like gizzards.  And now I have every right to say it.