Four for a dollar, the sign declared. Petite and a warm yellow, I chose four for my cart and once home laid them upon the kitchen counter. Last night I walked into the kitchen without turning on the light. The glow from the dining room chandelier allowed me to see where I was going, and that none of my furry children had followed me, or lay crouched and poised to trip my steps. They do love to be underfoot. I paused mid-step, for my nose had detected the fragrance of my pink grapefruits. They still lay unassuming and quiet but it felt as if they spoke directly to me. “Pick me up. I’m sweet. You know you want to.” They were correct.
My hand reached out and soon I was rolling it in between both of my palms. It was no longer taut and tight. The plump flesh yielded to reveal the flavors inside, ready to be tasted. I rolled the round fruit some more and my mouth began to long for the perfectly delicious juices I had grownup knowing. Taking a knife I cut it in half. The next part, while interesting to watch, is still a little tiresome to me. Cutting around the membranes, to free the sectioned pieces of fruit. Once done I sprinkled the tops with a small amount of sugar and took up my spoon. Refreshing and delicious I ate of its flesh and drank all of the juices. I was satisfied and thankful, too.