Why I Never Drink Ginger Ale

I thought it appropriate with Turkey Day right around the corner to regale you with a food story of my own. This is the story of why I never, ever drink ginger ale.

You know how when you cook bacon in a frying pan, all the grease is left over? And you pour it into a plastic cup when it's cooled down a little bit so that it can harden and you can throw it away? Well one morning, my mother had made breakfast and she did just that. I came downstairs to the kitchen a little while later and spotted the cup of golden liquid on the counter. "Oooh, yum", I thought, "I'll just have a little sip of my mother's ginger ale!". And I took a giant gulp of tepid bacon fat. Three days later my tongue and throat was still coated in a layer of grease that made everything taste vaguely porcine.

Now, I'm sure I know what you're thinking- why doesn't she stop eating bacon instead? Why stop drinking ginger ale? But my strange brain associated that experience with the ginger ale and I have never been able to stomach it since.

Happy eating, everyone!