An open letter to cilantro

Dear Cilantro,

You evil, evil thing.

 

You snuck your terrible self into my lunch today and I now have a lingering, cilantro-induced nausea and headache. So in addition to the crappy, soapy taste that now resides in the back of my throat, I feel awful.

 

I saw you there, lurking just on top of the surface of the yummy sauce-based entree at the Indian restaurant. I've become skilled at dodging you and your kind as I dip the naan.

 

I KNOW you wait for that moment that I hastily take a bite of the delicious samosa. I try to overlook you, hoping the cumin and the curry overrules your detergent-laden flavor.

 

You outdid yourself today, Cilantro. Today my head is pounding. My stomach is queasy.

 

I'm afraid I have to put you on lockdown, Cilantro. I can't risk feeling this horrible again, I can't take the chance anymore, I can't put myself out there for you to hurt me ever again. You hurt me more and more each time and it appears I have to avoid things I totally love because you hate me.

 

Fuck you, Cilantro, you dirty, dirty leaf. Fuck you.