Plum Disappointed

It had been a long, hard day.  I wandered the store in a fog of stress and impatience as I waited for my name to be called letting me know my prescription was ready at the pharmacy.  I needed nothing else in particular but I grabbed a buggy (for you Northerners, a cart) and started aimlessly wandering the aisles with the intention of buying a few things to fill up the shelves in my pantry.

Nothing appealed to me.  I strolled down the potato chip aisle, picked up a bag of salt and vinegar chips, thought about buying some dip, changed my mind.  I perused the wines, but decided I wasn't in the mood for wine. I picked up a gallon of milk, considered chocolate but again, not really in the mood.  I checked out the selection of ice cream, cookies and snack cakes to see if something stirred my desire, but nope.  Nothing.

Then I turned the corner and stepped into the produce section.  I saw some apples, "Eh, maybe." I thought.  Then some oranges, "Hmm...I suppo--Wait!"

And there you were.  You perfect little shiny smooth orb of sweet delight, beckoning me to you at a mere $1.98 per pound.  I picked you up, smelled your sweet skin, rubbed my thumbs across your shiny surface and imagined myself standing in my sister's yard beneath the plum tree, barefooted and ten years old, about to take a big bite out of you.

Of course this all happened inside my head so the other shoppers had no idea that I was momentarily lost in my fantasy with you.  It can be our secret.

I  greedily grabbed you up and stuffed you into a thin plastic bag to protect you, of course, from any sharp protruding objects that might end up poking at you inside the buggy.  I was determined to keep you pure, spotless and perfect for our first beautiful moment.

Finally, I heard my name called and we made our way to the pharmacy where I paid for you along with my medication.  I placed you in another bag all by yourself and carried you out the door as delicately as I could.  I was perfectly giddy with anticipation as I thought about washing you and then drying you off, ever so gently, with a soft towel.

In fact, as soon as we were home I took you to the sink.  I let the water cascade over you like a waterfall as I gently rubbed away all the icky germs that other shoppers had no doubt left on your supple skin.  Then I took the softest kitchen towel and buffed you until you were dry and shiny.  At last, our time had come!

I couldn't wait another minute.  Right there in front of the kitchen sink I sunk my teeth into you.  Your flesh yielded to me tenderly, but then...Ugh!  Then I tasted you.  Oh my freaking goodness, you tasted awful!  You little misleading unripened lump of sour displeasure!  You turned out to be everything BUT what I was hoping for.

"Pluh! Pluh!" I spat you you out into the garbage, my heart sinking into the darkest depths of my soul as my love for you turned to bitterness and scorn.  How could you present yourself so perfectly to me on the outside and then completely turn my mouth into a sour fountain of saliva and disgust?  How dare you call to me the way you did and get my hopes up so high, only to dash them away the instant I discovered what was hiding beneath your surface.  What a complete shame.

Have you any idea how disappointed I am?  Do you?

I am sitting here now, staring at you as you look back at me with that one gaping bite missing.

You mock me.

You're trying to look all innocent and unassuming but I know you're laughing at me.

 You knew I was longing for the nostalgia of that long-lost barefoot summer day beneath the plum tree. You knew from the moment you called out to me that you didn't have what it would take to give me that rush of joy, that sweet moment of carefree youth, the pure pleasure of tasting summer on a cold winter's day.  You knew how sour and bitter and hard you were beneath that soft shiny exterior, but you called out to me anyway.

And I...Oh, I fell for it didn't I?  I took the bait.  I committed to the experience before I even took the time to make sure you were ready for it.  What a fool I am!

What shall I do with you now?  Your outside is flawed, your inside is unripe.  If I leave you out to ripen, you'll attract bugs, but if I put you in the fridge you'll never reach your full potential.  I'm struggling with this decision, Dear Plum.  I'm almost angry enough to chuck you in the garbage and call it a day.  But for now I'm just going to sit here and give you the evil eye for a little while longer.

What's that?  My being angry at you will not make you taste any better?

I know that.  I know you're just going to be a mouth-puckering sour bit of heartbreak no matter what.  So why does it really matter what I do at this point?

I could go out and find another plum but chances are, this time of year, it would disappoint me just as badly as you did.  So I think I'd rather sit here shunning you and wishing I had bought the apple instead.

You stupid sour plum.