Human suggestibility and my victory over whoredom

Your typical store-bought sweetened and fruit-flavored yogurt is like a junkie prostitute who has taken a shower and put on make-up and heels (and a tight long-sleeved shirt) for you. The illusion is fine and even a tad pleasing, but beneath the surface appeal, you do realize that what you’re really getting is a disconcertingly diseased rendition of one of Mother Nature’s gifts.

And as far as the yogurt is concerned, despite all the evidence and warnings I care to read that yogurt is most beneficial when unsweetened and unflavored (in its pure form when it actually is allowed to perform fully, and unencumbered by chemicals, its pleasant duties upon your digestive tract), I nevertheless find myself answering the whore call of Ms. Dannon or Ms. Yoplait over and over.

My aversion to plain yogurt has been nothing short of legendary. I simply couldn’t do it. The notion of fermented milk struck me as an intolerable consumption of sour goo, something like what kids used to vomit in the 1st and 3rd grade classroom. No way Jose, no go. No can do.

Well, I’m pleased to announce, I’ve surmounted (and dismounted) my reliance upon the yogurt whore.

I literally shifted my thinking, I’ve circumvented my gag reflex, I’ve redefined plain yogurt, and now it’s fine. It’s not plain yogurt anymore.

It’s sour cream.

Wow. I just had a bowl of the stuff with some Triscuits. Delicious, this sour cream.