As a child I went through a coconut obsession phase. I don't know where it came from, but one day I knew that whatever secrets in life needed discovering would reveal themselves after I bought a coconut and than drank whatever was inside of it. So every time we took a trip to the grocery store, I would find a coconut and ask my parents if we could buy it. I don't know if it was a payday, they were in a good mood, or the several years of asking if I could have one every time I set foot in a grocery store, but one day they relented and let me take one home. The Christmas-day level of anticipation gave way to the mind-bending frustration when no tools I had at my disposal could crack the coconut. It was the ultimate irony--or so I thought at that moment. My dad finally broke it open with a hammer, and I tried my first sip of coconut milk and got my first taste of the whims of the universe. It was the foulest crap I'd ever tasted. And this was coming from a kid who ate paste like it was cookie dough. I still can't eat or drink anything with even a mild coconut flavor, which has only really been a problem when people buy those crappy coconut Girl Scout cookies or I waste $20 on a fruity drink served in a pineapple.