Breaking Up With My Yogurt

I know it’s such a cliché, but in every cliché there is a kernel of truth.

So.

It isn’t you; it’s me.

I know that you tried. Nary a month passes without an article in at least one of the plethora of women’s interest magazines touting your benefits.

Impressive.

In fact, you are so amazing that you are actually considered a super food. That rare category reserved only for a select number of foods thought to have extra-special super powers. (Although, it turns out that “super food” is not an actual scientific or nutrition term, but one dreamt up at some marketing firm. But I digress …)

Yogi, it pains me to say this. Because I know how hard you have tried to woo me. With your different brands. And different forms. And different flavors.

Fage.

Chobani.

Dannon Oikos.

Stonyfield.

Yoplait Greek.

Classic.

2%.

0%.

With mix-in.

Without mix-in.

Even Siggi, the Icelandic version.

I’ve tried them all. Despite your very creative efforts, however, you just can’t meet my needs.

Because not one of these will benefit my health if I throw up every time I attempt to swallow your thick, creamy self. No matter the brand or the flavor, I just cannot keep myself from thinking that you smell and taste like vomit.

To me, at least.

Because, as previously mentioned, this really is about me and not you.

So please don’t take this personally. The rest of the world loves you, and I’m sure you won’t even notice when I’m gone.

Don’t worry about me. I’ll be OK. Turns out that Dannon Fruit on the Bottom is more my taste. I always did have a thing for mixing those berries myself.

Farewell,

Rebecca