Joey’s persnickety about fruit. He used to like apples, now he won’t eat them anymore. He likes fresh pineapple, and he likes melons (well, except for watermelon). I think he likes bananas, but we all know how I feel about those and so I forget to buy them.
One cannot simply only eat pineapple and melons for weeks on end without getting resoundingly sick of those too, though, so on Saturday I decided to try grapes.
I know he doesn’t really like grapes. I know this. But he doesn’t like kiwi (they have seeds and they are green), nectarines (unless I put sugar on them), pears (skin is too gritty, so I have to peel them), or peaches (“why is the skin fuzzy like that?”). Recently he said blueberries were “pretty good” and strawberries “not too bad”, grapes are “kind of weird”, and raspberries still have too many seeds despite their delicious flavor.
As you can see, I am kind of low on fruitabulous options when it comes right down to it.
I cannot feed the man cheese and potatoes all the time. I simply cannot. He will die of a heart attack and malnutrition, and then I’d be all alone in Dallas and let’s not even go there.
So there I was in Central Market, staring at all the luscious fruit trying to decide what I could ply him with this week. Then I saw the grapes. Yeah, yeah, yeah, so he thinks they are “kind of weird” but so is he and I still married him. (And I realize that knife cuts both ways.) These grapes, though, were not just any grapes. They were big, juicy looking, and nicely purple.
I don’t like green grapes, only purple. Green is too sour.
They were so large, in fact, that I couldn’t believe they were actually seedless. (Joey will not eat grapes with seeds. He simply will not, and it’s not even worth trying.) Without glancing around to see if anyone was watching me, I plucked a grape and began digging it open with my fingernails. Sure enough, no seeds.
Then I noticed the guy standing next to me. Dude was looking at me like I was some kind of fruit murderer, so I smiled sheepishly and said “my husband won’t eat them with seeds.” He kind of put his nose up in the air and swept his grocery cart a few feet away from me, still watching me.
I looked down at the grape in my hand. I had nowhere to put it, and there were no trash cans nearby. So, in the moment of confusion, I popped it in my mouth. Dude looked at me like there was REALLY something wrong with me, but I sniffed a superior-type sniff and selected three nice bunches of grapes to put in my reusable cotton produce bag.
I forgot about the grapes until Tuesday evening. When I was packing his lunch for Wednesday, I remembered them and made him a Tupperware with about seven grapes in it. They were so big, that’s all I could fit!
Wednesday evening, the grapes were still uneaten and in the Tupperware.
So I put them back in his lunch for today.
“Eat your grapes,” I told him. “There are no seeds in them; I checked at the store. And you have no idea the scorn and ridicule I went through to purchase those.”
“We’ll see,” he replied.
Eat your grapes, Joey. Now the whole Internet knows you tried to pull a fast one on me, and don’t you even pass them off on someone else or try to throw them away.
I have eyes everywhere.
Everywhere.
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