People are like pre-made custard: each comprised of numerous ingredients.
Some of them are universal; some are more exotic. Some are undeniably delicious and some just downright bizarre or disgusting.
Each of these ingredients works in tandem to create the 'flavor of the piece.' The 'palate,' if you will.
I find most people unpalatable.
People custards have raisins. Or bananas. Or nuts.
In short, people custards are gross.
See, while I tend to like cream and eggs (the very bases of people custard), my culinary preferences above and beyond said base mimic those of Sally Albright to what some might term an 'alarming degree.'
On a plus note, it means I know exactly what I want and how I want it...two very important things to know. Especially if you plan on putting said thing into your mouth (I'll give you a minute to catch the double entendre on that one...)
Caught up? Good. I got sick of waiting for you. Hmmm...'slow to catch on to sexual double entendres'...that pretty much equates to including raisins in your personal people custard. Yep. That settles it. I don't like your flavor.
And my dislike of your personal ingredients leads me to my next point:
I have begun to believe that my anal-rententive palate preferences have left me literally starving for a human connection.
Because I won't have you because of your raisins. Or your bananas. Or your nuts.
I cannot stomach you.
But, consequently, my menu has become devoid of options. Seems here recently the restaurant ('life,' for those of you bogged down in metaphor and now surprisingly hungry for dessert) has been telling me that maybe I have to accept the whole of the human custard and learn to choke down the nuts.
Is that settling?
I don't know.
But the diner doesn't seem to be in any hurry to change the menu any time soon.
And I'm hungry, dammit!