So, some lame Friendly's commercial came on the other night, and they were sprinkling what I assume were bleu cheese crumbles on a burger, and I was all, like, ewwwwwww.
Because, really? Mold? You want me to eat mold and like it?
My mold prejudice actually began on the first day of seventh grade. With my stomach full of butterflies for the start of a new school year, I sat down that morning to toast that my mom had made me for breakfast. I took a bite, and ... mold. The toast had been made with moldy bread.
I pushed away from the kitchen table.
"What's wrong, honey?," she asked.
And at that point I remember going into a whole angsty seventh-grade screed about IT'S THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL and MOLDY BREAD and THIS IS HARD ENOUGH WITHOUT CRAPPY MOLDY TOAST and WHY DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN MY LIFE and
yeah, I'm not proud of myself. What a little sh*t. I'm surprised my mother didn't kill me as a kid. I would have. And that's EXACTLY why I never had kids; I remember what *I* was like as a kid, and it wasn't always pretty. Who wants to go through that again?
But don't ask me to eat anything freakin' moldy, including blue cheese. It takes me right back to seventh grade, and I'd rather not go there, thankyouverymuch.