Main ingredients:
step-brother
code monkey
okra
gruyere cheese
race track

Spice pack:
1/3 pinch of reluctance
1/4 smidge of surprise

My step-brother is addicted to okra. I hate it. I personally think okra tastes gross and slimy, like a vegetable's semen. But whatever. It's his life. If he wants to show me how disabled his taste buds are, that's on him.

Still, the differences in our appreciation of okra create some family problems. One day, we were eating dinner, and my step-brother dared me to eat all the okra on the table. I was like, "Yeah, no." But he told me that if I did, he would take me to the race track that weekend. It wouldn't work on me now, but back then... when I was 8 years old, I loved riding go-carts more than priests love riding 8-year-olds.

This was some Fear Factor shit right here. I felt like I was getting ready to eat a cockroach or go down on Roger Ailes. Man, oh man, did I want to ride the hell out of those go-carts. I was about to take the offer and do as he said like a code monkey. But was it really worth eating the okra and having stomach cancer? No. So, I told him, "No."

He threw some gruyere cheese at my face.