You’re not the only one with a hangover. We’ll be back with regular programming after midterms.
Male (the commenter) pointed out that I still haven’t presented an actual foible regarding food. Okay, so I haven’t got a foible. But after a little more head-scratching I came up with a genuine neurosis.
It’s genuine in the way that mental disorders are passed down and amplified from generation to generation. This one starts with my grandmother believing that bananas are a very healthy source of vitamins and minerals and that every growing child ought to eat one daily. (Was it daily? That’s the impression I got, but I bet it was nothing like. You know how kids exaggerate what their parents put them through.)
Now, my mother didn’t like bananas – she found them slimy and smelly. And of course, like all mothers, hers said “When you grow up and move out you can do whatever you want.” And my mother (like all kids – can you imagine she was a kid once?) said, “When I grow up, I’m never touching another banana for as long as I live – and I won’t make my kids eat them either.”
I wish I could say she was a woman of her word. Truth is, she touches bananas once a week – to buy them for her children. After all, they’re a very healthy source of vitamins and minerals, and every growing child ought to eat one… regularly, anyway.
I’d have nothing against this matter if circumstances were different in three ways:
1 – if bananas were sold individually
2 – if bunches ripened one unit at a time, instead of all at once
3 – if every other person in this family hadn’t upped and moved out, leaving me and my father the only ones to dispose of the weekly banana bunch.
My life is slavery to bananas. Maybe nobody is ordering me to eat one a day, but that’s the only way to prevent them from being tossed on the compost pile. They sit there, staring at me, whenever I enter the kitchen, their increasing brownness castigating my disinclination to eat them. Because I agree with my mother on this point: one a day is a bit much.
I have nothing against bananas, tastewise, but I loath the obnoxious way they loll around, green, for ages, and then – bam! They’re yellow, then speckled, then mush, in a marathon run of mere days. Call me a bigot, but I think bananas, as a race, have some of the most despicable habits known to man.
When I grow up, I’m not going to buy any bananas until we have at least three kids old enough to help us eat them. That’s my neurosis, and I’m sticking with it.