This Is A Rock!

When I harvested my blue potatoes last fall, I dug through the earth and pulled them all out one at a time.  I let them dry in the garage for a couple weeks and then I moved them, one by one, to a bag and set it downstairs to stay cool.  On the day before Thanksgiving I dumped them all in the sink to be washed and scrubbed with a brush.  I kept about a pound because I thought I had too many and moved those, one by one, back into the bag and back downstairs.  On Monday I brought the bag up and one by one, scrubbed them again and put them in a kettle to boil.  Then I moved them, one by one, onto a cookie sheet where I could drizzle olive oil over them and bake them into what I call "Smashed Potatoes."  I enjoy serving home grown, home cooked food to my family.  As I was smashing the potatoes on the cookie sheet, one of the potatoes would not smash.  And just as my daughter-in-law came up to my side I said in awe and disgust, "This is a rock!"  It was a rock.  It was a hot rock because it had just been boiled.  I had washed and handled and boiled a rock!  This rock was the same size, color and shape of all the other blue potatoes.  How could I have mistaken this rock for a potato?  I handled all those potatoes many times and never noticed this one was a rock?  I had eight opportunities to notice the difference between a rock and a potato and I missed them all.  I am grateful that I have the kind of daughter-in-law who thinks boiling a rock is funny and not disgusting.