At some point I realized that I don't object to any of the individual components of mayonnaise, so it didn't really make sense to be grossed out by it. Also, people who know about food are constantly claiming that homemade mayonnaise is so completely different than store-bought that you will rend your garments when you realize the height of mayonnaise ecstasy previously unknown to you. I had no reason not to believe these people, except I sort of suspected they were the same pack of dirty liars who told me that making crepes is totally easy.
So I whipped some up, and yeah, it was better than the store kind. But not mind-bendingly, avoided-foods-list-revisingly better. Mayonnaise and I have, at best, reached a détente. Given the calorie and fat content, I would still much rather smother my food with cheese or guacamole or pesto or Amy's ice cream. Or the separate, non-emulsified ingredients of mayonnaise.
Instead of going in to work, Dan spent all day being an exemplary husband and father, reading to the kid and cleaning the garage, while I ate bonbons* and watched my stories**.
We also had a major food-intake breakthrough, so please, please no one tell Anna that strawberries are fruit.
**Read about cognitive behavioral therapy