One a day for all of May
Every so often my mind drifts to fruit. And how utterly ridiculous this stuff is. And how utterly ridiculous our obsession of it is. And how utterly amazing it is to pierce the skin of a plump pear, only to let its fructose-laden juices drip down our chins, slide down our necks, and into our chest hair. And how utterly easy it is to gorge yourself on handfuls of blueberries if they are 1) present and 2) free. And how utterly useless the bulk of a pomegranate is.
That gets me thinking. Some fruits make you work for their...fruit. Grapefruits, oranges, kiwi, melons, heck, even bananas require some amount of work to peal, break, rip and tear just to get to what we want on the inside. They are making us savages. Here we were - civilized aristocrats - wanting to merely enjoy a bit of the earth's pleasures. Is that so wrong? And we must roll up our sleeves, sink our fingernails in, twist and scrape off layers of pulp and marrow just to enjoy but a taste of its sweetened core. Why do we do this? We are so committed to it? Why will we trade our dignity for savagery - only for the benefit of a morsel of fruitness? Why are we content to shred an orange into pieces, leaving its fragments strewn about our lunch tables? Why are we ok with gnawing helplessly at a stubborn banana peel?
Why?
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