I like potatoes. What can I say? I like them mashed, sliced, even raw sometimes. Potatoes are great. I once had a potato in my kitchen. That potato just sat there for so long. One day I named it. Billy was his name. I brought him upstairs to my room. I would just sit there and talk to this potato. He eventually became known as Billy the Therapist potato. No one knew this but me. On one sad day, my mother came into my room. She saw Billy. I had drawn a little face on dear Billy. My mother thought this was utterly ridiculous. When I got home that day, we had potato soup for dinner. I love potato soup. But after dinner I had gone upstairs to tell my dear Billy about my day… You probably can imagine my horror when I entered my room and Billy was not in his usual place. My mother had fed me my best friend for dinner. I never forgave her. But, I never stopped making little potato friends. One of my creations was a gorgeous rainbow potato. I had loved her very much. She sat in my locker for many months. Unfortunately, not everything can remain perfect forever. She grew old and passed on. I gave her a proper burial for the fabulous queen as she was. So maybe I like potatoes. But not in the way you would imagine…