I am a Catholic school survivor.  From the '50s and '60s, when the nuns were rough and tough like John Wayne.  You didn't mess with the sisters, because you were always going to lose.  And that would lead to extra schoolwork, and who knows how much extra time in purgatory! 

By nature a docile child, I fit in well at the school, happily memorizing my prayers and never rocking the boat.  Until that fateful day . . . when we were served . . . chocolate pudding for dessert at lunchtime.  I'm not sure why, but chocolate pudding was not a part of my childhood.  I mean to say that I never had it, had never seen it, and wanted no part of it.  I told the nice lunch lady that I did not want any dessert, thank you very much.  She scowled and plunked it on my tray, saying I had to take it. 

In Catholic school you are trained to never waste a single bite of food, since others, less fortunate, are starving in unknown places around the globe.  To ensure no wastefulness, the sisters took turns patrolling the lunchroom, swishing around in their long black garb, rosary beads clacking from their waists.  What is a nice girl to do?  I prayed to the oversized suffering Jesus who looked down on the cafeteria, and I received several encouragements, from the patroling nuns, about finishing up my lunch. But I just couldn't do it!  The chocolate pudding was foreign  and scary.  Tuna noodle casserole I understood, but this  dark  mysterious treat was definitely not for me. 

And so, I refused to eat it.  In return, I was ordered to stay at my place in the cafeteria until I ate the pudding.  I had never disobeyed any grownup, especially a nun, This was breathtaking new ground!  But any enjoyment was dulled by visions of my doomed afterlife.  Amazingly, even with the spectre of "pudding hell," I firmly stood my ground (or sat in my chair).  One o'clock passed . . . two o'clock . . . three o'clock . . . those nuns were not only patient, but very sure that their riighteousness would prevail.

Then the buses rolled into the parking lot, and I fought scary images of spending the rest of my life in that cafeteria.  But to my supreme relief I was released to go home on the bus, and the issue of the uneaten chocolate pudding was never raised again.

Today I love chocolate pudding!  I simply can't imagine why it seemed so dangerous to me!  Just a small indication of how much we resist coming out of our safety zones.