This month’s word is fruit, meaning “any product of plant growth useful to humans or animals”, “anything produced or accruing; product, result, or effect; return or profit” or “to bear or cause to bear fruit”.
It’s very late, I know. I’m hoping to be up to date by the end of the year.
I’m so hungry, but there’s nothing but fruit available. Piles of crunchy apples, bright oranges, furry brown kiwi fruit, bananas turning from yellow to brown, a mixed bowl of raspberries, blueberries and blackberries. So many options, and I hate all of them.
Fruit. It sucks, and yet they buy nothing else for me, in the vain hope that I’ll give in and eat some due to my growing hunger.
But they underestimate my hatred of fruit, my stubbornness and my hunger-fueled ingenuity. You won’t catch me eating fruit. I’d rather eat the rats I hear scratching in the walls. I’d eat nettles, spinach, sprouts before I’d let a banana touch these lips.
And yet, fruit.
So. Much. Fruit.
They say it’s good for me, but I say it’s gross, disgusting, horrible. None for me, thanks, I say, and wave it away.
I hope (I hope!) I can outlast them, that they give in before I do, because I just. Hate. Fruit.
But here they come with more fruit, as if these will tempt me where all others have failed. I suppose they have to say they’ve tried.
I wish they’d just bring me a carrot.