Tuesday, March 22, 2011

it's raining grapefruits.

Over a month ago now, I, in my infinite wisdom, purchased a twenty pound bag of grapefruit.

A sane person might ask why, why, one would ever think it was a smart idea to purchase that volume of grapefruit?

A month ago I would have argued the logic until I was blue in the face and, in my own mind, come out the clear winner, no matter what.

Not anymore.

You see, a month ago grapefruits were my favorite fruit.

Winter is the time of year this citrus crop is in full swing, and it's a ray of light onto my otherwise dismal cold weather existence. For the majority of this particular winter, I would buy grapefruits by the handful, two or three at a time, maybe a five-pound bag here or there. But, they're dirt cheap in the winter, and my waning budget won out that day, I went for the twenty pounder because it was six dollars and my god am I a sucker for a bargain.  

That's a fuckload of grapefruit.

But, I figured, I eat one for breakfast almost every morning already, they keep for a relatively long time, they're delightful and delicious, good for you, and why the hell not?

So, I embarked on a solitary journey. Me and my mission to consume twenty pounds of citrus before it becomes too mushy and disgusting for even I to deem edible.

Why do I get so much enjoyment out of a food that requires at least two utensils and a four-part process to consume? Some sick, wrong, part of me actually enjoys working for my food. So, I don't mind at all the necessity of a detailed preparation before the enjoyment portion of my morning meal. I quite like cutting the fruit in half and outlining each triangle portion with a knife, to make removal less arduous. Aside from chop sticks, the grapefruit spoon is my favorite utensil. A single fruit, designated its own human eating mechanism. Now that's status.

It's a dignified fruit. One for sitting down, actually having a meal that can't be scarfed amid traffic and slammed breaks and mascara application during the morning commute. This is a now sit down and read the paper and concentrate on this one task-at-hand hand food, and I respect it. For all my crazy and hurry and rush, I respect a goddamn fruit for forcing me to slow down and enjoy something, maybe just one thing, before letting the rest of the day get the better of me.

I fully realize that grapefruit is larely consumed by the elderly, who actually have the time to sit down and read the paper because they don't have shit to do other than go play bridge and watch the news, but maybe that's part of why I like it. My grandparents eat grapefruit frequently, with them even breakfast is a sit-down affair. As a child I waited impatiently for the day that I would be allowed to cut my own grapefruit, side-by-side with my Papa and help him with the crossword. I'd try to be like him and enjoy slightly bitter flavor instead of dousing mine with sugar. I still need sugar, so I guess I'm still not an adult quite yet. Maybe it's the nostalgia it stirs in me that keeps me coming back to such a formidable foe.

Whatever the reason, I've done what I always do with things I feel any affinity toward. I live and breathe the shit out of the thing until I'm so sick of it I never want to see it again. I do it with songs, listening to a tune on repeat until I know every nuance and pause to the point of complete familiarity and in time disgust, clothes, books, foods, drinks, and even grapefruit.  Now that I've been forced, in a race against their fragile produce expiration date, to consume grapefruit as if they're actually going out of style, I get absolutely no enjoyment out of eating them anymore. The people at work probably think I'm on some fucked-up diet where I'm only allowed to eat grapefruit for every meal.


I'm not even close to the bottom of the bag, and I'm so sick of grapefruit I could start throwing them though car windows.

So, despite my otherwise not-very-good-at-sharing personality, I'm making this announcement:


You want them? Come and get them.

XO Sara

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