Vanilla

The other day I heard someone described as "boring.  You know, she's sort of a vanilla."
Lay off vanilla.  Okay?  It did nothing to you whatsoever.  It's a good solid flavor with good solid potential!
I mean, I hear this so many times a day.  Vanilla is boring, only boring people appreciate vanilla.   You know what I think?  Vanilla is more willing to work with a wide variety of things than anything else in this world, and that's a rare and beautiful quality.  I mean, look at your rich, decadent, beautiful chocolates of the world.  Sure, they may be full bodied and go great with caramels, but have you seen them when you add gummi bears or strawberry syrup.  It's Chaos.  Sheer chaos!  It's this disgusting mass of sad gelatin lumps and broken dreams.  Too sweet, too different.  Too much.
Vanilla, good old reliable vanilla, is able to work with whatever your palate may appreciate, but it's also a standalone item.  If I'm feeling up for a chocolate coated masterpiece, do you know who I turn to for my foundation?  Vanilla.  Chocolate is great, but overloads of chocolate can ruin your night.  Chocolate decadence?  More like chocolate despair and ruin.
Or on the broader spectrum.  If I want fruity delights to grace my taste buds, do you think that I'm going with strawberry as my starter flavor?  Do you make your umbrellas out of paper? No.  Do you know why?  Well, in umbrellas, it makes everything super soggy and leaves you with a bunch of pulp and sorrow.  Now, trying to transfer that metaphor would just be idiotic, but here I go.  Too much strawberry, with those great hunks of artificial something that dares you to not call it fruit, leads to a bowl full of melted ice cream and disappointment.  Much like my paper umbrella, I'm left with nothing to see but my own lack of planning.
So, let's hear it for all the vanillas of the world. They may call us boring, they may call us bland; but in the end, everyone's life could use a little more vanilla.