The grapefruit is troubling me. The beautiful one the gentleman gave me Sunday for washing his windows. At first he held it toward me and gestured that I should come in and share it with him. “Peel it,” he said, pointing back and forth between us.
Recalling instructions that some residents would want to talk or press us into other service, I told him I couldn’t come in. (Besides, there were over 1000 windows to be washed. How long might that take?)
That’s when he insisted I take it.
Was that his only fruit? Was that a meal for him? Grapefruit have been over $1 each in the stores.
I read recently of a couple – in the same town as this man – who were overheard in the supermarket discussing produce. The man marveled “how wonderful” it would be to have a certain item. The woman reminded him they needed milk and couldn’t afford both. A teenage boy working in the produce department pulled a crushed fiver out of his pocket and pressed it into their hands. “Take it,” he said. “Buy that and enjoy it.”
Whenever I do eat that grapefruit, I’ll not halve it and spoon out the sections. No. I’ll peel it.