Back home when I was young and my parents served me a food which I found distasteful, generally asparagus or mushrooms or bologna or fruit or vegetables or meat or anything else that didn't have sugar, my grampa Fritz would say imperatively, "Eat it. It'll put hair on your chest." Well, what the fuck kind of incentive is that for a girl to eat anything?
My parents would eventually threaten me and coerce me into trying whatever disgusting gruel they'd served to me (in my mind, as punishment), and I didn't end up developing any of the hirsutism that runs in my family. Must have been a lucky genetic anomaly. But I ate it anyways. Even though I didn't like it--at all.