Public Service Warning: today’s post here at Blue Speckled Pup has been rated a 8.7 of 10 on the Minper Melodrama Scale. It may not be suitable for all audiences due to its graphic content.
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Contrary to what The Electrician–who hates all cruciferous vegetables–might tell you, this post has nothing to do with brussels sprouts. This post is about the plummet and crash of a once majestic, soaring dream. Join me in a story that traces a fabulous vision from its initial tiny spark to the height of its towering glory, and dare to stay with me (and not shy away like so many weaker humans) as I describe its heart-rending demise.
This, friends, is the story of a lowly avocado.
My dream started in the long, desolate stretch between my morning high-fibre granola bar and my sensible lunch of skinless chicken and brown rice. Generally, I start day-dreaming of poor influences to lead me astray during this time of day. Chocolate cake, french fries, and the entire “itos” food group generally parade through my mind while I’m waiting for lunch. Today, in a refreshing turn of events, Tostitos and all his flirty cousins were replaced by avocado, the superfruit.
No offense to blueberries and pomegranates, but I’m convinced avocados are the healthiest tree-grown nuggets on earth. It may be that Daylight Savings Time (the most misery-producing idea since control-top panty hose) has me craving monounsaturated fat, but today I wanted avocado like nobody’s business. In my grade ten English class, I started planning my salad for dinner tonight.
Imagine: mixed greens with shredded carrots and red cabbage (hey, it’s all in the same bag: I’m not that fancy on a Tuesday), tossed with a light, oniony poppyseed dressing, and topped with diced granny smith apple and slivered almonds. Atop all that deliciousness, glistening softly and vibrantly green, slices of fresh avocado at room temperature.
Go get a snack. I know you need one now. I’ll wait here, and I won’t tell your mom if it’s ice cream.
After school, I picked Sherm up from daycare and hurried home for my veggies. I have been waiting for the avocado in my fruit bowl to ripen for a few days, and today was the day to finally unleash its resplendence upon my taste buds. I actually told the half-asleep dog about my soon-to-be salad on the ride home.
Finally in my kitchen, but still wearing my jacket, I pushed some of the counter rubble to the side and dumped half a bag of salad into a big bowl before tossing the greens with the poppyseed stuff. Yes, I licked the dressing spoon. I scattered a good portion of the almonds over the floor in my hurry to tear the package open, and came close to losing my left thumb peeling the apple. The perfect salad is not without risk, you know.
Then, the moment I’d waited approximately seven and one quarter hours for. The avocado was dark and yielded slightly when I lifted it from the bowl to photograph the final minutes of its life. If you gasp at its beauty, I understand.
Knife poised, I said a little prayer of gratitude for this beautiful avocado, and promptly sliced around its circumference.
It twisted open easily, and bore a horrid surprise behind its succulent appearance.
What isn’t readily apparent in the photo is the oozing texture of this sad little fruit. It was something like the love-child of boogers and pistachio pudding that’s been in the fridge a week too long. Just the act of swiveling the halves apart earned me vile green gunk under most of my fingernails.
I ate most of a giant bowl of lettuce, carrots, cabbage, apples, almonds, and bitter dejection. Then I made a grilled cheese sandwich and ran myself a bubble bath.
Tomorrow, I think I’ll just go with the Doritos. I hear they make a guacamole flavour these days.
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