In defence of the grapefruit.

There are certain things I indulge in when Mr L isn’t home. I reflected on this recently whilst he enjoyed an evening of post-work drinks and I pottered off to keep the cats company and spend some alone time in the house.

Now for some people an evening without their parter might involve watching that guilty pleasure film, taking the longest bath possible with the largest glass of wine they can manage, eating dinner in bed with a good book. It’s not that I don’t enjoy any of these things, I do, but when Mr L is out the first thing I do is bust out my secret stash of grapefruit.

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I like to eat my grapefruit cut in half so that it can be slowly, deliberately and delicately be enjoyed using my grapefruit spoon. A special utensil handed down from my grandmother with a perfect serrated tip that allows maximum grapefruit scoopage.

I also like to enjoy my grapefruit in peace. Which I cannot do when Mr L is home. His dislike and derision of such wonderful a fruit goes so far that he once sent me this graph to help illustrate it.

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(graph thanks to XKCD)

That man has a serious grapefruit aversion. Which is perfectly fine and understandable. Not everybody gets the greatness that is the tart and juicy pompelmo. But sometimes, when I get an evening to myself there is nothing better than curling up with an episode of Columbo* with my grapefruit spoon at the ready.

*we’ll discuss that another time shall we?

 

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