At first we didn’t really notice them. But they were there. We’d bought one bottle of green stuffed olives a year ago. Left them in the pantry and forgot them. But by the next summer they had multiplied into an army and had taken over the kitchen, the parlor, the back porch. We could hear them whispering late at night. They seemed to be asking a question.
The voices grew louder each day and then finally we could make out what they were saying:
"How about dressing tonight’s salad with Spanish Green Olives?”