As a female in her 20s, based on grossly inaccurate stereotypes, you’d think I’d have orange-hued, pumpkin spice flavors flowing through my veins between the sweltering months of late August and brisk, early November. Yet, as fate would have it, I’m not a fan of the pumpkin spice flavors. In fact, I detest pumpkin spice as much as I loathe the way rotten porch pumpkins deflate and stink at the end of a hot Halloween season.

I find the notes of clove grossly overwhelming, and the other tastes are often sickeningly sweet. Part of me wonders if my mind is playing tricks on me. Do I not like pumpkin spice because I’m supposed to like it? Is this me rebelling against society in a tiny, insignificant way?

And then, like clockwork, pumpkin spice season rolls around; I try one of the fresh, new, trendy cinnamon-nutmeg-clove-ginger extravaganzas and realize that, no, I’m not rebelling, I’m right. Sure, I can appreciate a good pumpkin pie, but the artificially manufactured sugar-bombed flavors ruin the season’s tastiest trend for me.