Potatoes sprouts.....

Once upon time……ok,  when I was a kid I had to go occasionally to pick up a potatoes for my mom stored in the cellar in our house. Usually late in the spring or during mild winter they started to sprout. Etiolated  whitish, sometimes a bit branched sprouts  protruding from wooden box, where the potatoes were kept,  were for me equal to monsters with hundreds of long  necks, slow and ungainly moving towards the light.
(As you can see, dear reader, the imagination of a small Artichoke was at that time already fully developed  ☺)
I loathed them to touch and I developed a method how to take the potatoes out of box without physical contact: sometimes I used my daddy's Water Pump Pliers, even I may have used a fishing rod ( but it took ages to catch enough for the dinner) or other time I used an arrow or spear but every time when my mom saw the pierced or squashed tubers she shook with her head.....

Well, it is all about.... equality, isn't it?