April 05, 2016
As I pen my story, my girlfriend turns to me and asks, "is cilantro really that bad?" as if it were a harmless, innocent, herb without any type of negative impact around the globe. I turn to her in disgust and tell her to pack her things. "We're over."
I can't possibly account for the myriad occurrences in which the devil herb has crept it's way into a perfectly good meal of mine, ruining everything in it's wake. When eating any type of ethnic food, I live in a state of panic and outright fear. Oh no. I hope to god this is parsley. I take the smallest of nibbles, like a hamster eating it's, well, hamster food I guess. Then the vomit inducing, butt soap-tinged horror assaults my taste buds with a ruthless furor. I drop my fork in disgust and it clangs loudly off the plate in front of me. I sit, defeated.
I believe there is a better world, one without cilantro. Where we can eat our meals without fear. There is a brighter day ahead of us.