Me No Likey

Most times in life people agree to disagree, right?

I mean, everyone has his or her own favorites: favorite football teams, favorite condiments, favorite bands. And while there may be good-natured jesting that takes place, usually that’s all it is.

Good-natured jesting.

For example, say you only like writing with medium-point pens, and you mention this to someone who considers anything other than extra fine-point pens as blasphemy. Chances are he will just give you an odd look as if to say, “Whatever turns you on, go on ahead and live your sad medium-point life,” and that will be it. He thinks you’re weird. You think he’s weird. Life goes on.

But I find there are some peccadillos that people just will not accept. Ever. They see the fact that you don’t like these things as character flaws, or something just inherently wrong in your personality. And they take it as a personal challenge. You are now a problem to be solved. I try not to broach the following subjects with people, because it’s exhausting defending myself. My answer is usually some version of the following:

“For fuck’s sake I’m 54 years old, I think I know what the fuck I like and don’t like.”

This is my list of

Ten Things I Don’t Like That People Get Mad at Me for Not Liking

Red Hot Chili Peppers. I just don’t get it. Anthony Kiedis’ voice just does nothing for me, the music does nothing for me, I’m sorry. Don’t hate me for it. And please don’t play the 85-song compilation for me to get me to change my mind. I won’t. I never will. Everyone I know and love adores RHCP, and I wish I could share their joy. I always get the question “How. Can. You. Not. Like. Them?” delivered with a deadpan expression. I don’t. So sue me.

“The Office.” Let’s get this straight once and for all. I love Jon Krasinski. I adore Steve Carrell. I appreciate the dry humor of the show, I love hearing it on in my living room when my boys watch it, and I love the memes. I GET IT. I just don’t binge-watch it, so I don’t get the references. It doesn’t really even belong on the list because it’s not like I don’t like it. I just don’t really watch television, so the cult phenomena of it has eluded me. That’s all. People get so angry at me if they can’t talk to me about it. I understand. I’m the same way about “Seinfeld.” I mean, how can you not know who Schmoopie is?

Avocado Toast. Again. I enjoy guacamole. But the thought of spreading mashed avocado on a piece of toast and then eating it makes me want to retch. The consistency is abhorrent to me the way hummus is, with its unpleasant mealy-mouth feel. This is just my opinion. Feel free to eat your fucking avocado toast, and let me enjoy my eggs in peace. I mean, shit. I’m never gonna eat it, so move on with your own life. 

Bloody Marys. I don’t like cold tomato soup in a glass. So I don’t care if you stick celery in it or beef sticks in it or cocktail onions in it, or even if you sprinkle special herbs from your garden in it. I’ve tasted them, and I don’t like them. I’ll drink a mimosa at brunch, if you don’t mind, or a nice glass of wine. You want to drink your iced ketchup, enjoy yourself.

Hot Sauce. I know it’s a craze. My sons pour it on eggs, pizza, nachos, chicken, meatloaf, steak, you name it. But doesn’t the food then taste like hot sauce? Is that the point? Why would I grill a twenty-dollar filet mignon then drown it in hot sauce? People buy me hot sauces, push them towards me, tell me, “Try this.” No. Why? Go away.

Tom Brady/Tiger Woods. If I see the acronym GOAT one more time to describe these two athletes, I will scream. I’m tired of them. There’s no rhyme or reason to my distaste for them, I’m just tired of them sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. Can’t they retire and just GO AWAY? I hope Patrick Mahomes tears Tom Brady a new butthole at the Super Bowl. And watching Tiger Woods’ smarmy smug pissed-off expression when he had to put that green jacket on Dustin Johnson at the Masters’ was the highlight of my year. Suck on that, TIGER. I hope Charlie chooses soccer, it would serve you right.

Sushi. No. I’m not trying it. And you will not be the one person in the universe who will say something convincing to get me to eat it. And if you bring it to my house as an appetizer, you and your dead stinky rubbery raw fish rice seaweed concoction will be thrown out onto my front lawn where you both belong. Swim with the fishes, bitches.

Cruises. Cruise People hate me, because I have the temerity to dislike cruises without ever actually having BEEN on a cruise. That drives Cruise People crazy. Things Cruise People say: “How can you say you don’t like cruises if you’ve never taken one?” And “Those boats are so big, Mary, you won’t even notice the movement.” And, “There are so many stops, Mary, you’ll never get bored.” And “The food alone is worth it.” Let me say that the only cruise I will ever take will be the one that takes me to Antarctica. Other than that, it’s not happening. I don’t want to be stuck on a boat for a long-extended period of time, I don’t care if it’s like being in a “city.” How do I know I don’t like it if I’ve never experienced it? Well, I’ve never experienced hari-kari either, but I don’t go around trying to get disemboweled. I just know it would be an unpleasant experience, so I do my best to avoid it. FUCK OFF I DON’T WANT TO GO ON A CRUISE.

Taylor Swift. She’s not talented. Her songs suck. She’s pretentious. Her bangs look ridiculous. No one gives a shit about her “Squad.” Change my mind.

Heat versus Cold. My comfort zone, as in the temperature in which I am comfortable and not overheated, has been documented as being 42 degrees. I shit you not. I AM A COLD-WEATHER PERSON. I can’t even remember the last time I was cold enough to even make the observation that it was cold out. I don’t need to be dressed in layers like you, I don’t need to wear a puffy coat and hat in 50-degree weather like you, I don’t need my house thermostat at 75 degrees in the winter like you, I don’t sleep in long fluffy thermals like you. Winter is my happy place. I’m sorry if you get cold easily and it makes you uncomfortable that I don’t, but that’s life. Just because I don’t even wear a hat and gloves when you’re wrapped in a Goretex bubble suit doesn’t make me a bad person. I can’t help that my core body temperature is what it is, and neither can you. I get hot and uncomfortable in the low 60’s and 70’s, and Jersey humidity is my nemesis. Will you now please stop asking me, “Aren’t you cold?”

I’m not.