“Why don’t you like bananas?”

This is a question I used to get constantly from my children, and get constantly from my grandchildren, all of whom are militant banana enthusiasts. These are people who will eagerly wolf down bananas straight from the peel, sliced onto their cereal, blended into smoothies, and baked into muffins. They view the banana not merely as a fruit, but as a foundational food group.

I, meanwhile, view bananas as an evolutionary mistake run amok.

Banana-related conversations with my grandkiddos often go something like this:

“Poppy (or Papa, depending on the kid), why don’t you like bananas?”

“Because I don’t.”
“But why?”
“Because they’re weird.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Yes, they are. They’re squishy and they smell funny.”
“But they taste good.”
“To you, maybe.”
“But why don’t you like them?”
“I just explained it to you.”
“I know, but why?”

This is what I’m up against—a gaggle of persistent little fruit loyalists demanding justifications I can’t scientifically validate. If I told them I was allergic to bananas, they might show mercy. If I told them I once had a traumatic, banana-related incident involving a chimpanzee and a tricycle (not true), maybe they’d back off. But telling them bananas make me throw up a little in my mouth is unacceptable.

You’d think I’d just confessed to hating puppies and kittens.

And yet, despite this unrelenting pressure, I remain firmly banana-free. With all due respect to Dr. Seuss, “I do not like them here or there. I do not like them anywhere.”

You may be thinking: But bananas are delicious and packed with vitamins. How can anyone possibly dislike them? To which I say: With great consistency and moral clarity.

Let’s start with their taste and texture. Bananas are the only fruit that can be described simultaneously as mushy, chalky, stringy, and gummy. That’s not a description—that’s a warning label. And the smell? If the scent of overripe bananas was bottled, it would be called Eau de Decay and sold in truck stop restrooms.

Then there is the look of them. They don’t resemble any other fruit in this or any other universe. Not by a mile. Bananas are shaped like punctuation marks. They bruise like amateur boxers. You blink at them wrong and overnight, they turn from edible to an environmental clean-up site.

And yet, despite all this, bananas have become the default fruit of modern civilization. They are snuck into fruit salads and thrown into children’s lunches with alarming regularity. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve gone out for breakfast and had the waitress ask me if I wanted banana slices on my oatmeal for an extra dollar or two?

No, thank you.

Disliking bananas includes membership in one of the most obscure clubs on the planet. Indeed, a recent Yougov.com survey found that only 5% of American adults say they dislike bananas, compared to 86% who like them, and 8% who are “neutral”, which I guess means they wouldn’t necessarily go out and buy a banana, but they wouldn’t call the cops if one showed up in their fruit bowl, either.

Tragically, we who dislike bananas have no support group. No bumper stickers. No “Banana-Free Body By Choice” lapel pins. We simply suffer in silence, declining banana smoothies and discretely picking out, then flinging away, the banana slices from potluck picnic fruit salads.

I figure what we need is a famous-person spokesperson—someone who shares our disdain for all things banana and can serve as the face of our movement. Unfortunately, the only celebrity I could find who comes close is Kendall Jenner, who has said publicly she doesn’t like bananas because she associates the smell with her father, Caitlyn Jenner, who ate them constantly when she was growing up. The smell, she said, gives her a headache. The problem is, I’m not sure Kendall Jenner is the kind of rallying figure who can carry the torch for banana haters everywhere—mostly because I really have no idea what she’s famous for.

Which brings me back to the home front.

To my grandkids: I love you, and I do not judge. If you like bananas, knock yourself out. But no, I will not eat one with you. Not a bite. Not even “Just try it, Poppy”—because we’ve been through this before. Many times. And if you ask me again why I don’t like bananas, I will look you in the eye, yet again, and say what I always say:

Because I don’t.

And that, dear reader, should be reason enough.