Fifteen year old Square Piece pleaded, “No! Not the cupcake pans!” Collapsing into a puddle on the kitchen floor, “Puh-leeeeease don’t make me wash the cupcake pans!”
Fifteen year old Square Piece was not trying to shirk the responsibility of doing the dishes. No, fifteen year old Square Piece was trying to steer clear of anything that was kin to soggy bread. (And if liners weren’t used in the cupcake pan, then that awful, thin, bread-like film would be lining each cup.)
I hate soggy bread, okay? The squishy consistency upsets me to my very core. In the same way that spiders or snakes or heights might make you queazy, so also has soggy bread had such an affect on me. Fortunately in my maturity, I’ve found a way to talk myself through soggy bread encounters without showing my true colors (though the one dead giveaway is that I still have to order French Onion Soup without the bread on top).
But once upon a time…
Yes, once upon a time if you chased me with soggy bread, I’d take off running, flailing, screaming and choking back tears. If you touched me with soggy bread? Well, you’d probably find me rocking myself back and forth in a fetal position for the next fifteen minutes, shuddering, shivering, and – again – choking back tears.
Once my coworkers thought it would be funny to place a slice of soggy bread on my salon station. I kept about a 15 foot distance and refused to make eye contact with the bread. It was removed.
On another occasion, one of my coworkers accidentally cornered me, wondering if I wanted to try a certain bread dipped in a certain soup. I nearly scaled the wall trying to get away.
When I was in high school working at Pizza Oven, if I was on dish duty, I didn’t think twice to call a friend to come and rescue me if – heaven forbid – crust happened to be floating in the sink.
*Blech. Still shuddering.*
So there you have it. Now you know.
Today, if the tomatoes are making my sandwich bread too mushy, I just have to turn it upside down to be sure that it’s not looking at me. As long as I keep myself distracted I can finish the sandwich. I’d call that progress, wouldn’t you?