I often tell people that I don’t eat raisins because I had a bad experience, but I don’t always tell them what that experience was. In fact, sometimes merely telling people of my experience makes them not eat raisins as well. But what horrible thing happened to make me stop eating such a seemingly harmless food?
Well, like most horrible experiences, it all happened when I was a young child. I was probably 10 or 12 or something, but it’s really not all that important. I had always liked raisins up until this point, I just never liked them mixed with other things. A box of raisins was a tasty treat to be enjoyed by all.
So, I’m at my father’s house for the weekend and it’s time for breakfast. Now, I don’t get to choose what I eat, my dad gives me something and I damn well eat it. On one hand, I always get something to eat, but on the other hand, I may not like it very much.
On this particular day, my dad was in a hurry to go somewhere, and I had to go with him. I don’t recall where we were going, everything else about that day was eclipsed by the raisin experience. Now, I like English muffins, and so does my dad; we eat them all the time. Usually, they’re toasted and covered in peanut butter, something which I still enjoy eating to this day.
However, not all English muffins are the same, sometimes they have raisins in them. As I said before, I do not like raisins mixed with other things, especially bread. I’m not sure why, I just don’t.
My father hands me two halves of an English muffin smeared with creamy peanut butter and we head out to the car, an old Bronco II. At first, I didn’t realize that these were raisin English muffins, but it became plainly obvious after that first bite. Of course, at this point, there’s really nothing I can do, we’re sitting in his car, I don’t even think I had a paper towel.
So I had to eat them.
They are not good. They are not the tasty and delicious breakfast treats to which I am accustomed. They are vile and disgusting discs of nasty. I decide that if I’m going to have to eat these things, and I do, that I may as well eat them quickly. I’ll never know if this was the right decision or not.
I stuff the English muffins into my mouth, peanut butter and raisins mixing together like some sort of disgusting snot-filled pie. The taste and the texture is difficult for my body to handle, and it fights back. I start to gag. Not enough to cause alarm to my dad, but enough for me to know what was going to happen next.
I knew what was going to happen. It was inevitable at this point. At any moment, I was going to vomit. There was nothing that I could do.
Now, let me tell you a little bit about my father. It should be noted that he was what you might call a “stern” man, or, a giant asshole. At any rate, one does not vomit all over his dashboard. In fact, one does not refuse to eat his food at all.
So I did what I had to do. I clamped my lips down as tight as I could and when that final gag came, my mouth filled with fresh, raisin-ey, vomit. But my mouth held fast, thankfully we didn’t hit any potholes. Of course, I wasn’t done yet. I still had to swallow all of it back down.
And I did.
I never told my father about it, and I still don’t eat raisins. So you can enjoy your trail-mix all you want, but I’m picking out the raisins. I think I’m entitled to at this point.
Originally posted on some other site I don’t talk about in September of 2008, some minor editing done