There are Twitter memes that work their way around…#randomfactsaboutme #100factsaboutme #ttymomnkab (ten things you may or may not know about me), and I’ve somehow managed to avoid all of them. Well, except for #moobie / #boobiewed because, let’s face it, I’m a bit of an exhibitionist. I love reading these from other people, but despite my “I’ll write anything about myself” attitude, I don’t see John trivia as interesting.
Except for this one thing…and some of you may want to read this sitting down.
I don’t like chocolate
I’m used to blank stares & complete disbelief after this reveal.
I didn’t always despise chocolate like I do now. I remember thinking it was ok when I was a kid. I could take it or leave it. And because I love food1, I’d leave it more often than not (because leaving it meant that I could eat other things).
As my palate matured (because we sure-as-hell know that my sense of humor has done no such thing), chocolate grew increasingly in disfavor. I remember going to Switzerland with extended family when I was a freshman in high school . . . I came back claiming that “I only liked really good chocolate” because I certainly did enjoy some of the chocolate on that trip. Not having “really good chocolate” stashed around every corner back home, though, I went months between bites of the stuff. And each time I had some, it was worse.
I’d love to answer the question “well, then, what does chocolate taste to you?” because I’m asked it a lot. But, I don’t know how to answer it. My answer of “rotten calf’s liver sprinkled with feces” isn’t ever believed, but that’s probably the best I can describe it. Seriously, the slightest portion of cocoa on something is enough to make me gag.
There have been times that my wife, a chocoholic, has asked me to try something because she absolutely cannot believe that I wouldn’t like it. Just as many times, I’ve looked for something, anything, to get the taste of out of my mouth. I’ve resorted to wrapping my tongue in a paper towel.
In fact, my wife very nearly dumped me early in the “Johnny comes a’courtin'” phase because of it. Seriously, she didn’t know if she could trust someone who didn’t like chocolate.
Of course, there’s the good side to this. For one, by not eating chocolate I leave more chocolate for the rest of the world. This may seemingly be a “tiny drop in a huge bucket,” but I’m pretty sure that my taste for asparagus has caused a global price increase.
Then, I don’t ever have to worry about the “need to have it” craving that, supposedly, comes with this substance for those of you “normal folk.” There are certainly foods that I covet and obsess about (cheese curl, anyone?), but always in a “I’d really like to have” sense, never thinking “if I don’t get this, heads will roll.” I can go on & on & on about my diet & my battle with my belly, but not having to worry about finding room for a couple of hundred calories a month in the “make the stress go away and I can’t have wine right now” budget makes watching what I’m eating that much easier.
One of my best friends doesn’t like beer – and, it’s not a “doesn’t like hoppy beer” or “doesn’t like dark beer” thing. He just, plain, doesn’t like beer. For years, every time he came over, I asked him if he wanted a beer2, and he’d double-take when I’d steadfastly refuse a square of fudge, or a brownie or a chocolate chip cookie or the fabled “chocolate cake with peanut butter icing.”
So, I’m defective. I’ve come to grips with this – but I felt you, my readers, needed to know this about me. I’ll understand if you don’t come back.
Oh, and just so you know, the most evil thing to do to me? Place a chocolate chip scone in a bin of blueberry scones. Once, I stopped for a treat on the way to church (to, ahem, play with my organ) – I had my coffee, the sun was out, Will Shortz was on NPR, I was in a great mood. Then I bit into the scone.
1 that I love food may be the understatement of the century
2 if you come to visit me, I’ll always ask you if you want a beer, or wine (because of this friend…though you might have to be prepared for boxed wine). I’ll ask this even if it’s 9 o’clock in the morning. Unless, of course, you’ve been over enough to know where the beer & wine is and can get it yourself and maybe I’ve had enough that I shouldn’t navigate stairs