Dare MeI've always had a little thing with dares.
But not all dares, just dares dealing with food. And not all food either, just really weird concoctions of things. Or things you wouldn't even normally eat.
Like leaves, for instance.
I'm not sure when it started, but I've been eating leaves, flowers, etc. all my life. Not whole ones, and not on a regular basis, but sort of just for fun.
I was once dared to eat a couple random leaves off a tree.
So I did.
They really taste just like lettuce. Grass, too. It's all just yummy leafy greens.
While vacationing in Hawaii one year, my sister and cousin dared me to eat the orchid that garnished my smoothie.
So I did.
I still have a picture somewhere of me smirking with a beautiful purple orchid hanging out of my mouth.
In college, the dares multiplied. My immature friends and I would sit in the dining hall mixing our food together in horrible hybrids.
I'll never forget the great french fry dare. It was one solitary fry covered in ketchup, tartar sauce, green cake frosting, soda, and who even knows what else. I was dared--for free, I believe--and so... I ate.
It was the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted. I seriously almost vomited in the long, agonizing minutes it took me to chew and swallow.
But did that teach me? Of course not.
I've eaten a big dallop of Crisco. I've eaten an entire piece of pizza that landed cheese-down on the dirty floor. I used to pride myself on the number of hot dogs I could eat in one sitting.
I've stuffed my mouth so chock full of Jelly Beans that I could barely breathe (and Jelly Beans will never be the same). I once drank Tobasco sauce straight. I 've chugged the remnants of a co-worker's melted banana ice cream mess.
And, most recently over the weekend, I stuffed a big ball of carrot cake in my mouth at a restaurant. Again, it took many minutes to chew and get it down.
And for the first time, I felt a twinge of apprehension as I lifted it to my mouth. For the whole rest of the night, I walked around with a weird feeling in my stomach. I guess that's how undigested cake feels.
Or maybe it's just that I'm gettin' too old for this. I'm not bouncing back as quickly as I did before.
Cake stuffing would've been nothing four years ago. A bunch of hot dogs would've been nothing in high school. Now, I'm lucky if I can eat two.
But some things never change.
After the recent cake incident, my friends and I started reminiscing about the old dining hall days. And sure enough, they'd mixed up a new concoction in a matter of seconds: the requisite french fry, ketchup, A1 sauce, mustard, cake and some beer all smashed together with a fork.
The dare was made (with money involved, no less)...
...and I so graciously declined.
Yes, we may still be the immature girls who snuck salt into people's drinks in the dining hall, but I've finally learned to say no to a weird food-related dare.
And that, my friends, is progress.