I hate mayonnaise. I have never tasted it but the smell makes me throw up. My brothers love it. They know I don’t allow it in my home.
Sometimes my brothers will buy it and hide it in the refrigerator. The minute I open the fridge, I throw up. They have stopped buying mayonnaise because I always throw it away.
My dad thought my aversion to mayonnaise was just psychological. When I was in third grade, Dad would make my lunch. He would spread a tiny drop of mayo and a lot of mustard. Since I liked mustard, he decided it was a good way to mask the smell of mayonnaise.
At night, he would ask “Did you eat your sandwich?”
“No dad.” I responded.
“It had mayonnaise.”
My father tried one more time to put mayo in my sandwich. I told him that I had given away the sandwich. I did not want to tell him that sometimes I had thrown it away.
My father finally stopped hiding the mayo with mustard. He knew I wasn’t eating my sandwich. I think my dad thought I’d die of hunger. He finally asked me to watch him make my sandwich.
He once tried to tease me with marshmallow cream that came in a jar. My father was very funny.
He would say, “Come and taste it.”
He would finally admit that it was not mayonnaise.
I thought I was the only one who hates mayo. It turns out that three of my siblings also hate mayonnaise. Three nephews and three nieces also can’t eat mayo.
My sister use to think that I influenced her family to hate mayonnaise. I had to remind her that I hardly see some of her children. Hating mayo must be a family tradition.