If you don’t know what it is, go look up “Haggis.”
I know, right??
I ate it.
On a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Scotland (a place I’ve only been dreaming of visiting since I was twelve) I ate the haggis.
I did it. I put that scary stuff in me.
And it tasted about like you expected it might.
But that’s kind of irrelevant, isn’t it?
For years, I would find reasons to avoid stepping out onto the skinny end of the branch.
Now I look back and think, “How sad.”
Quiet desperation’s for suckers.
Plug in.
Say ‘yes.’
Climb out onto the skinny end.
Pass the haggis.
My mother once told me you should try everything in life once, except Morris Dancing and incest.
But she was from Edinburgh, we had no choice about the haggis.
Didn’t make it to Edinburgh! Next time … next time …