Yesterday, while helping me with dinner, Vince was overcome with tearing in his eyes from the onions I was chopping. He complained briefly about the dreaded vegetable, then moved on to discussing garlic, which he apparently finds much less offensive. This is news to me, since I can count the number of vegetables (or other contaminants, in the form of any non-meat chunks) he will allow to pass his lips on zero hands. After, a thoughtful pause during his contemplation of onions and garlic, he concluded (and almost made me pee my pants):
Onions are like garlic’s mean friend.
Well put, my friend.