Goose Poop

As I mentioned in a previous post, I eat Mexican food quite often.  Too often.  And while I am quite possibly one of the least picky eaters known to man, there is one food that I absolutely, positively cannot make myself even attempt to eat. 

Guacamole.

Before I go on with this sad, sad tale, I feel it is important to note that I have two big brothers.  Mike is 6 years older than I am, and Dan is 3 year older.  And when I was a kid, they made my life a living hell.  I mean, I know they love me and all, but I am the youngest and the only girl.  I never had a chance of a quiet, peaceful childhood.

Honestly, I’m not completely sure how I survived the earliest years of my life. 

Mike and Dan would build some scary, incredibly unsafe, and completely awesome contraption (they’re both engineers now, so I guess in retrospect, it makes sense) and refuse to let me have any part of it… until it was time to give it a test run.

Then, I was their girl.

One time, a zip line they built broke when I was about 10 feet in the air. They had assured me that as long as I held on tight, I had nothing to worry about. 

They lied.

I have been tied into a wheelbarrow that was attached to a pulley. 

The pulley was about 15 feet in the air. 

(That’s another story for another day.)

Guntersville Lake is about 30 minutes away from where I grew up, so a few times a month, Momma and Daddy would load us up in the van and take us out there to spend the day.  We would head out in the morning before the southern summer heat would set in, and we would just spend the day walking the trail and playing in the water. 

If you have ever been to Guntersville Lake, I’m sure you’ve experienced the excessive amount of geese that reside there.

They. Are. Everywhere. 

Where there are lots of geese, there is lots of goose poop.  Unfortunately, the two go hand-in-hand. 

I was never incredibly bothered by the geese or their poop.  The geese avoided me, and I avoided their poop.  Simple solution, right?

Once the midday heat would begin to set in, we would all hop back in the van and go to a local Mexican restaurant.  Not going to lie… it was always my favorite part of the whole day.  My order was the same every single time:  taco salad with chicken.

Oh me.

It was bliss in a deep friend shell. 

Unfortunately, one sad day, Mike and Dan brought my happy little world of chicken chunks, shredded lettuce, cheese, tomatoes, sour cream, and guacamole to a screeching halt.

I can’t remember exactly which one of them said it (the trauma of it all causes black spots in my memory), but one of my wonderful older brothers looked at me and said, “Hey Jessie… you know that guacamole is made out of goose poop, right?”

To this day, I can’t eat guacamole. I can’t do it.

I now know that guacamole is made from avocado, and that no type of avian excrement is involved.  I promise.  I really do know that.

But I am scarred. 

Forever. 

I dare you to tell me you don’t see the resemblance.

Enjoy your guacamole, ladies and gentlemen.