We were standing in front of the refrigerator at my friend’s house at about the age of seven. We were searching for a snack after playing outside all day. After only seconds of looking through the different levels of the fridge, I saw her grab a can of whipped cream. She squeezes this absurdly messy nozzle into her mouth with clouds of fluff filling her cheeks. It seemed fun because she was laughing around and making funny faces with the cream that caused her face to be puffed out like a chipmunk. She handed me the can and urged me to try it. My hand reaches for the can with slight hesitation, as I wanted to experience the playfulness of the whipped cream.
I felt the chillness of the aluminum can as it touched my skin. It felt to be about half full, because when I shook it, it sloshed around with much room. The cream that was left sounded like nothing I have ever heard before, meaning not any foods have this dense but airy texture. I squeezed the white nozzle in between my lips, and instantly began to raise my nostrils and squint my eyes to the nastiness that had entered my mouth.
The unbearable white sweet puff of air was stuck in my teeth, lips, and every crevice of my cheeks. My tongue could not get comfortable with the fluffy inconsistent texture, it was like I could swallow one hundred times but it wouldn’t get out of my mouth. As the last bit of cream slides down my throat with a little push from my tongue, I could taste the left over residue that continued to linger. The slight taste of sugar was dwindling on my taste buds like it was a game.
I let go of the can and let it slowly drop to the ground as I rushed to the counter to grab a glass for water. Stumbling over to the sink with the seconds not being fast enough; I finally received a relief of chill water running down my throat. I could hear the laughter from my friend as she continued to joyfully squirt the whipped cream into her mouth. Her reaction to me disliking whipped cream seemed surprised almost, because most people act the way she did with excitement and joy.
After the one attempt of trying whipped cream from the can, I am turned off forever. It has been about eleven or so years since the tragic tasting incident, so my taste buds have been a little more forgiving but I can’t seem to find the will power to voluntarily let the gooey, white substance slide down my throat no more. I almost feel like I am the only person in the world who is not in favor of this desert condiment, because I always get a confused face from people when I ask for it not to be put on my food.
But I always tend to see kids around the same age I was, standing in front of the fridge with the door wide open squirting whipped cream straight into their mouths. Even though I find it disgusting, there is something traditional and comfortable with the playful idea of swallowing down mouthfuls of whipped cream in the kitchen.