That's Not What I Meant to Say

My dad makes REALLY good Mexican food (that's and understatement).

However, my whole life I have hated -let me repeat- hated onions and tomatoes. I've always picked them out of my salads, off of my burgers, and definitely out of my dad's Mexican enchiladas (out of EVERYTHING!) They've always had such a strong taste to me; a taste that makes me spit out a mouthful of food if there is so much as a tiny shard of an onion or tomato in it.

Then came the day (last week) that my dad made fajitas with fresh pico de gallo.

Pico De Gallo

Not wanting to hurt my dad's feelings I slopped some pico de gallo on top of my fajitas thinking "I'll just push it off with my fork when he's not looking." To my disappointment he sat down directly across the table from me. I had to do it. I had to take a bite. I opened my mouth, and took a bite. I did it. I ate onions and tomatoes...and I liked them. I just said that-let me reapeat- I LIKED THEM!! Before I could even think about what I was about to say these words blurted out of my mouth:

"Well what do ya know?! I actually like this!! 

I guess my taste buds are finally dead."

That's not what I meant to say.

 I didn't mean to say that my dad's cooking was horrible. I quickly tried to dig myself out of the hole and explained that "as you get older your taste buds die off. That's why picky eater kids, grow up to eat most foods... their taste buds don't  "taste" like they used to...foods aren't as strong..." My digging was useless.

I looked around the table, and everyone laughing. My dad wasn't offended after all. He was just glad I finally "joined the eating tomatoes and onions club." I'm glad too.