Screw Mayonnaise

Don’t you hate those people who talk about their diets all the time? They go on and on about how they’re “so into lentils right now,” and how they’ve stopped eating gluten because it’s bad for everyone, and how they’ve never been to a Taco Bell and want to keep that streak alive. Well, I’m basically that person. Sorry to be so annoying.

I have a love/hate relationship with food. I, as any patriotic American, love food with all my heart, yet certain foods make me angrier and more disturbed than anything else in the world.

For instance: cookies? Delicious. Mashed potatoes? Nothing better has ever been invented (and I’m including all inventions in my considerations, not merely edible ones). Hamburgers? I worship those meat patties at a special ground beef church every Sunday. Et cetera, et cetera. Clearly you can see my patriotic devotion and dedication to the culinary and gustatory arts.

On the other hand, nothing—and I truly mean nothing—offends me as much as the existence of mayonnaise. I really don’t understand why it exists. Who decided to make it for the first time? Who thought that a white, creamy mixture made of fat and self-loathing would be a good thing to slather on sandwich bread?? My bigger concern is why do people continue eating it every day? Surely one taste should be enough to dissuade a second bite.

I feel the same way about sour cream, though mostly because I assume it’s basically the same food. I’ve never knowingly eaten sour cream, so I can’t weigh in on the flavor. However, it looks the same as mayonnaise and it’s called “sour cream,” which is literally the worst sounding food name I’ve ever encountered (except maybe tripe), so we’ll just assume it’s the same flavor.

I’m also offended by the existence of many varieties of cheese, namely Kraft American singles and cottage cheese. Again, mostly because it looks like a lumpier version of mayonnaise. I also hate that all STDs or other vaginal problems seem to be accompanied by cottage cheese. Have you ever noticed that? Every health or sex ed. textbook describes this cottage cheese phenomenon, and when Cosmo decides to have an STD themed article, they too cite the cottage cheese discharge. I just can’t fathom how someone can willingly consume cottage cheese after hearing it compared to, well, that. Let alone the fact that it looks and smells terrible to begin with.

Wet foods in general disgust and offend me. If you try to serve me wet food (other than soup, of course) I will throw it in your face, and then you’ll have a wet face. I don’t like the phrase “runny eggs,” and I don’t want to encounter runny eggs at brunch either. I don’t like pizza that needs to be patted dry before I eat it. And if the cheese stretches between my mouth and the slice when I try to bite it, I will stop eating it. I prefer my pizza cheese to snap back with surprising elasticity.

If I’m eating something with a spoon that ought to be eaten with a fork, there’s a problem. If I can see my reflection in the glistening surface of my entrée, there’s an even bigger problem. If I wanted to see what I look like while gorging myself, I’d hang a mirror next to my dining room table.

Bit I digress. Clearly I, like most annoying people, love talking about the various foods I despise. Why is that? No one cares what foods people hate. Oh, you hate celery? Good for you! I never would have thought to form an opinion on something as complex and thought provoking as friggin celery. Seriously. Good. For. You.

It’s the same thing with telling other people about your dreams. I’ve literally never been even remotely interested in hearing about a dream someone else had.

My husband and I have quite the tempestuous relationship when it comes to food. Usually our food arguments start because he tries to make me eat food I don’t want to eat. He has this bad habit of trying to shove it in my mouth, as if I will change my mind or forget that I didn’t want to eat it if it’s circling around in front of my face, making airplane sounds. I mean, I know we use this strategy on children all the time, but they’re dumb. I, on the other hand, am very astute, and thus cannot be tricked into eating mayonnaise just because it happens to be acting like an airplane. You can’t get anything past me.

He’s not the only one who finds it personally offensive that I won’t eat mayonnaise. Almost everyone I know has tried to convince me I’m wrong about it. I don’t get why people care. What’s in it for you? How does this affect your life at all? You can’t, in good conscience, tell me that my distaste for mayonnaise is even a remote detriment to your daily well-being. And yet every time a food containing mayonnaise comes across my path, people feel the need to try to force feed it to me. Apparently I need to broaden my horizons and try new things. Apparently I don’t know what I’m missing. Apparently I don’t actually dislike mayonnaise—I only think I do, but I’m not giving it a fair chance. Right, because all of my problems would be solved if I developed a taste for mayonnaise.

Tell me again about its myriad health benefits? 

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