COLUMN: Why do I hate fruitcake? Let me count the ways.

To everyone who did not give me a fruitcake for Christmas:

Thank you.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart and the depths of my taste buds.

I love fruit. I love cake. So, why do I hate fruitcake?

Let me count the ways.

Fruitcake is a cringe-worthy food group. It is sappy sweet, with the texture of Sponge Bob and the density of a fireplace brick. I have added years to my life by abstaining from the weird combination of raisins, nuts and candied fruits … sometimes doused with whiskey or rum.

December was National Fruitcake Month. If you’re a fruitcake fan, it was a mouth-watering 31 days. Hope you got some in your stocking.

But if you are like me, and cannot stand to be in the same room with fruitcake, December was a month to keep vigil, lest a piece unwillingly show up on the table.

Usually, an aunt or nice church lady will try bake one. Or some practical joker will try to pawn one off on you. “There is only one fruitcake in the world,’’ comedian Johnny Carson once said, “and people keep sending it to each other.’’

(Even the astronauts have re-gifted. Fifty years ago this past July, pineapple fruitcake was taken aboard the Apollo 11 moon mission. It returned to Earth uneaten and is now on display at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum.)

If it’s any consolation, the month devoted to Christmas kryptonite is followed by the arrival of National Fruitcake Toss Day, traditionally observed on the first Saturday in January.

With this “holiday’’ in mind, I was tempted by the prospects of chunking a little fruitcake. However, the problem with living in a fruitcake-free zone is I didn’t have a supply of it.

So, I did something I never dreamed. I went and bought a fruitcake. (Please, let this remain our little secret.)

My wife and I found an Old Fashion World Famous Claxton Fruitcake at Food Depot for $3.39. Our friend, Jeffery, was our cashier. I saved the receipt, figuring I could write it off as a business expense on my taxes. (Hopefully, I won’t get audited for fruitcake research.)

It weighed 1 pound and contained 44 grams of sugar. I have heard stories about fruitcakes having a shelf life of a year or more, but this one had an expiration date of 04/09/2020. April 9 is my birthday, so I considered it karma.

Of course, I never had any intention of sticking a fork in it. This was strictly for fun, a holiday diversion.

Years ago, there was a book titled “50 Ways to Recycle Fruitcake.’’ It suggested using it for everything from door stops to paper weights.

I wanted to see how many creative ways my family and I could disperse it.

By next week, we will have spread fruitcake remains across six states. R.I.P.

▪ We mailed some to our friend Jackie, who lives in Nashville. Jackie and I always are looking for ways to pick on each other. It was my turn. I’m waiting for her to retaliate.

▪ I gave it a proper burial in the sand along the beach at Amelia Island.

▪ I offered a slice to our friend, Doug, who was in Macon for a visit. He politely declined but agreed take some in his suitcase back home to Peoria, where he promised to have someone take a video of him throwing it into the Illinois River.

▪ I put two slices on a plate, with a plastic knife and fork, and placed it on top of a wall next to the sidewalk in front of our house. I left a note: “Happy New Year. Free Fruitcake.” I got no takers, no bites from the neighbors. After five hours, Delinda went out to check and reported: “Not even the ants are touching it.’’

▪ I dropped a piece in a trash can outside the Waffle House in Dublin. (I don’t expect anyone to dumpster dive for fruitcake.)

▪ Fruitcake can fly. It’s a superpower. I rolled two slices into a ball – using gloves, of course – and, with an assist from our son, Jake, threw a 33-yard pass across the front yard. Joe Burrow, eat your heart (not fruitcake) out.

▪ My son Grant stepped up to the plate – no pun intended -- and offered to spread fruitcake crumbs across Alabama on a business trip next week. Jake convinced a friend, Matt, to take a piece back to Lexington, Kentucky, where he is going to roll over it with his tires.

On our way to Amelia this past week, we stopped in Claxton, which touts itself as the “Fruitcake Capital of the World.’’ It is written across the top of the water tower. The two bakeries in town export some 2,000 tons annually.

I wanted to reunite a small piece I had brought along with its family. We rolled up in front of Claxton Fruitcake. Instead, I dropped it on a side street next to the building. I guess I found yet another use for fruitcake – patching pot holes.

A historical side note about Claxton. On a December day 35 years ago, a small meteor dropped from the sky and struck a mailbox in Claxton. The battered mailbox later sold at an auction for $83,000 to The Macovich Collection of Meteorites in New York.

It might have been a meteor, but I have my own theory.

Somebody with a good arm must have wanted to get an early start returning a fruitcake.

Ed Grisamore teaches journalism at Stratford Academy in Macon. His column appears on Sundays in The Telegraph.

This story was originally published January 5, 2020 at 7:00 AM.