I DON’T like BROCCOLI RABE, BRUSSELS SPROUTS, or WATERMELON. I LOATHE CUCUMBER.
Do not put it on my plate. If cucumber touches anything, I CAN’T EAT IT.
I SHOULD HATE carrots and spinach. When I was four years old, my dark hair coiffed à la Buster Brown, I lusted for blond curls. One day I confided my secret to a friend of my mother’s. She in turn told me that if I insisted that my mother feed me carrots and spinach every night that I would soon have a head of luxurious golden ringlets. I did as she advised, driving my poor mother over the rails, as she soon became weary coming up with new spins on spinach and cultivating carrot concoctions. After three months of stuffing myself nightly as such, my locks were status quo. It was then that I realized that my mother’s friend must have been a vegetarian witch. I also probably became the youngest cynic on record.
Photo Credit: Harley Langberg