My sweet little avocado was one of the few ripe ones left on display at the store last night. And so, its history (I can imagine) involved many a person squeezing the hell out of it to see, "Is it ripe yet? Now? Today? A minute later? A new person later? Oops, dropped on the floor. Now?"
At lunchtime today when I cut the thing open, clinically, not getting too attached to it, my imaginings were confirmed: bruises and those wormlike thready fibres running throughout its young (and of age) flesh.
What is up with those thready fibres? Grosses me out.
I salvaged some avocado innards and wiped them on my salad.
Snack: strawberry-banana-cayenne smoothie. I forgot to wash the strawberries. Don't tell anyone. Usually I wash my containers as soon as I walk in the door, but yesterday my roommate was in the kitchen so I washed only one of my two containers of strawberries, and I did so in the bathroom. Just -- don't ask. We have an unspoken agreement not to be where the other is at any time. Small quarters. Familiarity breeds contempt, etc.
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