I love plums. Growing up we had a beautiful plum tree that would flower every spring and as the too small fruit ripened, I knew that it meant that much fatter and much tastier plums would start appearing at supermarkets. My fandom for the fruit even extended to the dried variety, the prune, and it made me think that I would also enjoy prune juice. This turned out to not be the case and I learned a lesson from it.
My Grandmother often kept prune juice in the house and every time I would ask for a glass of the stuff, she would rebuff me, telling me that I would not like it. I would pout and try again later. After many attempts to score some prune juice, she finally gave in, under one condition. No matter how much I poured into the glass, I would have to drink the whole thing. Naturally I poured myself the largest glass possible and quickly discovered that prune juice was not something I enjoyed. For the next four hours, I found myself gagging down the glass in tiny sips while my Grandmother watched.
To this day, I cannot bring myself to drink a cup of prune juice because of this life lesson my Grandmother chose to teach me. I am not sure that was her intent, but the consequence has been a prune juice free life.