Because I hate it. I don't like iceburg lettuce at all, and for 18 years of my life, that's what I believed salads consisted of. To be fair, it's not like it tastes all that bad, it just doesn't really taste. The crunchiness: OK, but so are carrots (and heck, romaine) and they taste good. A salad: bunch of crunchy cardboard drowned in dressing to make it taste good.
Fortunately I finally discovered the rest of the World of Lettuce and since then I've even been known to like salads and even eat them by choice (gasp!) I'll eat baby mache straight, no dressing adulteration required.
I'm flippant today because I'm feeling a weird mix of anti-social, diverted, elated, sad, and lonely. The 'rents return home this afternoon. I think I will have dinner with my love monkey and then knit alone for a couple hours and not talk to anyone. I suppose this means I'm an introvert on the whole Meyers-Briggs scale, but then comes the times I crave company and camaraderie. It's just exhausting.
Bah. Enough navel inspection.