I didn't die // the body never ceases changing

I willingly ate a floret of broccoli Sunday night and I survived. I didn't gag or even have a hard time swallowing it. Granted, I didn't like the taste but I realized that I could eat broccoli if forced and that I may not have to be so meticulously diligent when filtering it out of casserole-style mixtures.

This probably doesn't sound like much an accomplishment to most, but let me give a quick history lesson that will illuminate the significance of this post. After finishing my freshman orientation at the University of Arizona in the summer of 1993, my parents and I went to Applebee's for dinner. After basically finishing our meals, my mom, who also hates veggies, and I each had some broccoli left over that had come on the side of our entrees. We dared each other to eat a piece. My dad, if I'm remembering correctly, offered money to whomever ate one first.

We each stabbed a floret with our forks and slowly raised them toward our mouths. And about six inches away, when that pungent bitterness starts invading our nostrils my mom and I each balk.

My dad makes fun of us, yet neither of us even responds to his provocations because broccoli is a vile weed.

Now 17.5 years later, my taste buds have evolved and I hate broccoli and survived.