One time, when I was, like, three, I ate a buttload of strawberries and broke out into hives.
Fortunately for me and my love of all things red and berried, it’s never happened again. I can enjoy strawberries just like almost everyone else, as long as my intake doesn’t come too close to my own body weight. I imagine that’s basically what happened back in ’84, knowing me.
Before now, when I was a restaurant slave, I spent a lot of time prepping cases of strawberries for salads and desserts, and it was all I could do not to eat the best of the lot.
I could write love poems about strawberries.