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.