When I was a kid in Key West, we had aloe plants. My mom would break off the fat juicy leaves and spread the gel on my skin whenever I’d gotten a little too much sun. Sometimes a bit of aloe juice would find its way from my arms or face to my six-year-old tastebuds. YUCK. Accidentally ingesting that bitter stuff was enough to wreck my day, or at least ten minutes of it. Which is a long time when you’re six.