Seven Days Of Pointless Confessions. Day Six: My Mushroom Hatred Is My Own Fault

I hate mushrooms. I despise them. I can stomach button mushrooms a bit, but that’s because they’re so filled with brine that they don’t even resemble real mushrooms anymore, taste or otherwise. However, it’s my own fault.

When I was in preschool, I loved mushrooms. Couldn’t get enough. I distinctly remember a bunch of mushrooms growing out of a log by a fence in the wooded area my preschool maintained and let us play in (a Montessori, the fenced off wooded area was pretty nice). I remember having eaten them, the whole patch growing out of the log. I liked mushrooms back then, remember? Also, I was something like three or four at the time. I don’t remember precisely how people found out, but I suspect some other kids told on me. Other kids are like that. The school and my parents must have assumed they were poisonous, because I definitely remember being at the doctor’s office where I was throwing up into a metal bin because they’d given me syrup of ipecac.

I haven’t been able to stand mushrooms since.

I still have no idea whether that patch in preschool was poisonous or not.

About David S. Atkinson

David S. Atkinson enjoys typing about himself in the third person, although he does not generally enjoy speaking in such a fashion. However, he is concerned about the Kierkegaard quote "Once you label me you negate me." He worries that if he attempts to define himself he will, in fact, nullify his existence...
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