A Bit on Fruit

For the vast majority of my adult life I have contended that I don’t care much for fresh fruit. Come to think of it, even as a child I wasn’t a big fan. And don’t get me started on cooked fruits.

This morning as I wielded my cart through the produce section of my grocery store, I was excited to see cantaloupe on sale for $0.99 each. Wow! A pittance for fruit that yielded succulent, chockful of vitamins, healthy booty! I stood in front of the piled-high display of creamy colored melons; a stream of thoughts flowed through my head with the speed of class 5 river rapids. “Uggghhh…I have to select one." “Didn’t mom always say to choose one with a smooth spot where the stem was?” “It’s the pale yellow ones I’m looking for, right?” “Is that what mom said?” As you can see, doubt settled in regarding my selection ability. The produce man asked me if I needed help. I told him that I was looking for a good cantaloupe hoping that, with his vast amount of produce knowledge, he would choose the juiciest, ripest, most flavorful melon from the pyramid. As my luck would have it, he merely parroted the same sentiments I had heard from my mom. Creamy skin, a heavy melon, its okay if the outside is a bit bumpy. Are you kidding me? Couldn’t he see that I was lost despite his coaching? Crap shite. Fine. I’ll do it myself. Whatever. I dove in, pulled out two, and wheeled away without any confidence in my selection. No confidence whatsoever. Yet still hopeful.

I got home with my groceries and started carving up the melon. Cut it in half, scoop out the seeds, slice into wedges, cut into bite-sized chunks, pop in the fridge for a refreshing cool snack. I realized as I was finishing up with the bite-sized pieces that I hadn’t popped one in my mouth. This stopped me in my tracks. Huh? I didn’t WANT to eat it. Didn’t WANT to taste it. Why? Because I didn’t want to be disappointed.

The sudden realization was freeing. I had finally been able to pinpoint why I don’t like fruit. When I tell people I don’t like fruit, eyes pop open wide and mouths drop. I start to stutter my way through vague explanations and random excuses. Having a solid reason makes me feel better about what others view as an oddity or affliction.

Fruit is unreliable. Fruit is disappointing.

Mealy apples. Beautiful ruby-red strawberries without flavor. Pithy oranges. Nectarines that never ripen. Jade fleshed avocados strafed with brown spots. Pears sans juice.

The notion of a magnificently arranged bowl of fruit sitting on the counter ripe for delicious, healthy snacking eludes me.

No one likes to be disappointed by something so beautiful to behold and suggests so much temptation and hope.

However, I will say, pineapple has never disappointed me and I, therefore, hold it in high regard.