I volunteer to be the odd one out...

I remember crying at the breakfast table as I smelled the scent of grease float closer and closer, my impending doom.

Dad's rule is 'you have to finish everything on your plate', but 6-year-old me got good at hiding it in napkins, throwing it across rooms into the garbage, and on occasion flushing it down the toilet.

As I got older I'd always get priceless reactions, just like yours right now:

I've never liked bacon.