Today I casually appraised the contents of the refrigerator and came across some cookie dough in a tupperware.  I inspected it more closely, and it appeared to be for snickerdoodles.  I hate snickerdoodles.  I have always hated snickerdoodles.  I think there’s something about cinnamon I don’t like.

However, I found some baked on a plate in the cupboard, and eating one, found it good.

Now I feel really stupid.  I have made a similar discovery about bananas.

As I child I would eat three to five bananas in one sitting, about once a day, but I eventually grew to hate them.  After not touching one for well on four years, I had an irrepressible urge to try them again, and found that I do indeed like bananas.

I don’t feel about them to the full extent that I once did; I probably never will.

And after obnoxiously exclaiming that “I hate snickerdoodles!  I hate bananas!” everytime anybody offered them, how can I just be like, “Oh, all those times–they meant nothing.”

I just don’t like them enough at this point to recant at the price of my reputation.

Maybe one day, snickerdoodles and bananas.  Maybe one day.


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