Whipping Boy

Mark had to pick up a few things for dinner on the way home, so we popped into the Publix. As Mark strolled up and down the aisles, I tagged along behind him. We turned into the condiment aisle, and Mark stopped the cart to reach for a jar of Miracle Whip.
    "I haven't had this for years." Mark said dreamily.
    "Ugh, don't waste your time with that crap. I won't touch it."
    "Yeah, but I like it. No, I love Miracle Whip."
That seemed incomprehensible to me. How could a cheap imitation of mayonnaise be loved?

There is a long list of foods I won't eat. I have made Mark acutely aware of my feelings about these things with the hope I will never find them in the house, or on my plate. Despite that, I occasionally do find them hidden in a dish. Here are a few that will turn my stomach every time.

• First of all there is that Miracle Whip. It tastes like a penny, very metallic with a dash of sugar. It tastes nothing at all like mayonnaise. Growing up, Miracle Whip was all we ever had in our house. I didn't even get a taste of mayonnaise until I was old enough to drive myself to a cheap restaurant and order my first BLT sandwich.

• Velveeta; My god, where do I start. How did they ever figure out how to make that orange goo, and market it as food? It comes in big bricks that don't even need refrigeration, and I think in a pinch you could use it for caulking.

• Pepperoni; I can eat it on a pizza, but with a lot of sauce and cheese to disguise it. I used to love pepperoni when I was a little child. In fact, because I ate up all my dad's pepperoni once, he bought me my own pepperoni sausage the next time he went shopping. An entire pepperoni sausage, all mine to eat all by myself, which I promptly did. After eating about two thirds of that thing, my gag reflexes kicked in. I buried the last third in our back yard, next to our dead canary and never ate it like that again.

• Cooked carrots; Slimy, mushy, and nasty. Enough said.

I know, to look at me you'd think there wasn't anything I wouldn't eat. That is pretty close to the truth, but even though I eat ninety eight percent of what Mark puts in front of me, I can be picky. All I ask is that he doesn't ruin a good pot roast by sticking those goddamned carrots in there.