Recently, I shared with you all the near life changing experience that I had with the iced caramel latte. I hope you readers at home have a deeper understanding of my distain for the substance known as coffee. Contrary to popular belief, there's a substance, or in this case an edible object that I despise more than coffee. This object makes my skin crawl, my back ache and it causes my soul to weep. This object is, the pumpkin.

I hate pumpkin and trying it out only deepened my hatred for it. Buckle up, while I retell a challenging time in my life.

Picture it, Perkins, 2016. My mom and I stopped there after leavingUCF on a Saturday afternoon. I had a hankering for some pancakes, so I was excited to be there. We were able to snag a menu while we endured the long wait to be seated and served.

We finally got seated and served at a table. The waitress had quite the upbeat and bright personality. She attempted to crack a few jokes and lighten the mood, which we appreciated. But it all went downhill from there.

We knew what we wanted to order, but she insisted on showing us the specials. All the specials that she showed us had a common denominator – pumpkin. Pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin bread, pumpkin loaf. I'm pretty sure they would've served me pumpkin bacon if I asked for it. The waitress, bless her soul asked if we wanted to try any of their pumpkin products. My mom said no, but I had to be extra.

"No thanks, I don't like pumpkin."

I don't think I've ever seen someone so disappointed or shocked in that statement. Her reaction resembled Sandy Cheeks when she found out that Spongebob thought that Christmas was one of her friends from Texas instead of a holiday. She made it her mission to make me like pumpkin.

"I'm going to bring you samples of pumpkin and you're going to like them," she said.

"But what if I don't like them?" I replied.

"Don't worry, you will," she said.

Nothing was the same after that exchange with the waitress. The level of stress that I felt at that moment was on such a level of fleek that it's hard to comprehend. How could I enjoy the beautiful creations known as pancakes, knowing that the doom known as the pumpkin is on the horizon as soon as my fork hits the plate?

I ate my pancakes and tried to think of a plan to sneak out of the restaurant. My creative mind decided to take a lunch break, leaving me without the creativity needed to escape that situation. Talk about catching an L.

Anyways, she came back with this mammoth plate of pumpkin objects. I couldn't make out what they were because they were coated in powdered sugar. I asked for a refill for my sweet tea so that the sugary southern comfort beverage would offset whatever taste the pumpkin had.

My mom, who's not a pumpkin fan either, took the first bite. Then it was my turn. I gave myself a pep-talk and then I closed my eyes and quickly opened them to her rolling her eyes at me. Some might consider my actions overdramatic. But who cares what those people think. This was my way of preparing myself for the inevitable.

I took a bite into the pumpkin muffinand immediately took aim at the sweet tea. But it was too late and the damage had been done. The pumpkin had infested my taste buds and those buds took exception. They revolted. They cried and their tears took the road less traveled to my soul which led to heartbreak.

I told the waitress that I didn't like the pumpkin and continued to thank her for bringing me the food to try. That didn't get me very far. Her reaction resembled a person who drives to Chick-fil-a on a Sunday for lunch, only to experience the agony of them not being open. The rest of the exchange wasn't pleasant, as she caught an attitude with us. Still, she got a good tip, even though she hates me for not eating the pumpkin products.

It's been two years and I still can't get that putrid taste out of my mouth. To all you pumpkin lovers out there, I don't know how you can stand it. May the Lord bless you richly. But the best way to describe my pumpkin experience is the way the old classic "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," describes the Grinch. Stink, stank, stunk.