I hate soup.
I really do. I can't stand the thought of eating soup.
But once I start eating it I don't really mind. Yeah, it is weird. I don't think I could ever actually want to eat soup. My wife loves it, so she makes it when she wants to or when we have the stuff for it. She knows I don't like it, and it has become a regular inside joke between us. But I eat it. I even enjoy it. Home made chicken noodle, black bean and rice, chicken and dumplings, taco soup, all of them are great. But only once I actually start eating it. I could have some yesterday, know it was great, and the very next day ask me if it sounds good and I will give you a resounding no.
I have tried to figure out why, and I think I have a good idea. When I was living in Guatemala we often had soup. Hot, boiling, steaming soup at one in the afternoon, when it was nearly 100 degrees in the house and humid as can be. Darn near 700 days of that in a row and it sort of melts the liking of soup right out of you.
It is the only thing I can think of. I didn't have any problems with soup before I went to Guatemala. But ever since then. . .
NO SOUP FOR ME!!