My former coworkers can verify that I used to throw a minor fit when the old developer guy next to me would nom on bananas at his desk. The wretched smell would waft over the short cubicle wall and into my banana-free zone. And I would dry heave. When I was pregnant, I actually had to step away when he (or anyone else in the office) ate them. I never said anything, because really, it’s just a #%!#$ banana. And he was a really sweet guy. And it was all over in a few minutes anyway. Plus, hello excuse to leave my desk.
If you didn’t gather from that enthralling anecdote, I hate bananas. They are good for one thing only: banana bread. And when I make banana bread, I pretty much hold my breath until the pan slides into the oven where is becomes delicious non-banananey goodness.
I don’t know if this is true. I also don’t want to find out.
At first glance, they are a perfect food. Cheap, abundant, wrapped in its own easy-peel wrapper that doubles as a cutting board, full of potassium and some other shit.
DO NOT BE FOOLED.
They are also filled with spiders.
And apparently the bottom end of it tastes like Beelzebub’s booty. (Can someone verify this?)
DID I MENTION THAT THEY ARE FILLED WITH SPIDERS?!
Spiders, people. Venomous ones. No. Just. NO.
The worst. THE WORST.
Unfortch, Little A goes apeshit for bananas. His first real word is thisclose to being banana. He freaks out when I put them in the grocery cart. He powers through an entire one for breakfast. I have to touch them on a daily basis. And one would think, after five months of a daily peeling, I would be immune to its powerful scent. I am not.
Does anyone really like bananas? IT’S A CHIQUITA CONSPIRACY. I feel like the world thinks everyone LOVES bananas but nearly everyone I know does not. Including my mom’s side of the family, where a conversation yesterday exposed a communal hatred among two cousins, my brother and myself.
I will continue to give in to Little A’s obsession and continue to cut off the apparently awful tasting booty end. Because I love my little spawn.
The sacrifices we make as parents, amiright?
BANANAS. NO. NOOOOOOOOO.
.
Sidenote: This post was really hard to write as my N key isn’t working so well. SO MANY EDITS.
Dear #$&!% Baby 