And I thought I was immune.

I love onions, I really do. Fried slices over "Kässpätzle" (I refuse to use any of the bad English translations the internet offers) or sausages, or fried and cut into small pieces in various sauces or raw in salads. Whenever we had a meal with onions I used to argue with LB because for some strange and inexplicable reason he doesn´t like them. I say "used to" - he gave up a few months ago. I don´t ask him why just in case he simply forgot.

I also had the good fortune to be able to cut onions without crying. (Or is it "chop"? I´m not good with cooking vocabulary. But it´s amazing how many google hits I got for "How to cut an onion.") For years I thought I was immune to something that I heard happens to everyone else. We had small purple onions last month and I got a little teary, but I thought it must be a special breed. But today I cut two totally normal big onions and now I understand where all the warnings come from: I could hardly see anything and kept running to the tissue box. A romantic love song came up on the radio, which made me feel pathetic, so I tried to think of funny things that came to mind (penguins and the Star Wars cantina, for some reason) and I was still crying.

I do hope it´s a non-recurring thing, and I´m trying really hard not to see it as a bad omen for the exam on Monday.