Childhood trauma.
I can't remember the name of my pediatrician. I think his name was Cooter. When I was a young lad, (4 or 5), my family took me down to the bait shop where Cooter practiced medicine. My mother was insulted that I wouldn't eat her cooking. The fact that even the cockroaches wouldn't stoop that low didn't factor into her thinking. She told Dr. Cooter that I wouldn't eat meat. What she didn't tell him was that she kept in in the fying pan until the smoke was too thick for us to breathe. Since Dr. Cooter was concerned that I might turn into a Commie or a Vegitarian, he told my family that I should be force fed eggs everyday until I learned to eat meat like a man.
Giddy with the prospect, they started at once. For the next few years, they force fed me eggs every single day. They would cram them in my mouth until I couldn't breathe. If the vile substance fell on the floor, I had to get down there and eat off of the floor. They would lay out a belt on the table as a warning, and then beat me with it at random intervals if I wasn't eating fast enough. Looking back, I realize that a lot of that was just something my Dad did for fun. If I threw up, well, you get the idea.
Eventually, my jaw muscles grew strong enough that I could finally bite through the blocks of granite my mother served as meat. At that point, they decided that if I could chew through that, their fingers were in serious danger when serving eggs. It was a very sad day for them.
That was several decades ago, but to this day I still cannot abide the taste or smell of eggs. Well meaning people have tried to help me grow up and get over it, but it is just not possible. I've grown to the point where I don't immediately hurl if someone else eats eggs in the same room. (That took about 20 years.)
Good times...