Before she got married, Tracey would occasionally buy and eat sauerkraut. It would come in a jar at the supermarket. All she need do was throw a few peppercorns into a pot, empty the jar into the pot, perhaps add a bit of water, and heat it up. It was a delicious accompaniment to sausage or corned beef or something like that.
When she got married she never used it again. Tommy described sauerkraut as smelly, rotten, German cabbage. Over the forty-two years of marriage, Tracey sometimes thought of sauerkraut, usually when she passed the sauerkraut in the supermarket aisle. But no! Not a single shred of putrid brassica passed her lips during all those years.
It was sad when Tommy died, but Tracey knew that she would eventually have to get on with life. She had to remind herself that it was her life alone now; she didn’t have to compromise. She went to the supermarket and bought a jar of sauerkraut and some sausage; to consolidate her conviction of independence. She would have it for dinner.
Were the Fates laughing? Was it one of those ironies that rear its ugly head when one least expects? On the first bite of sauerkraut it went down the wrong way, and Tracey choked to death.
As the coroner joked to his colleagues, “It was a waste of a jolly good sausage”.