True Life: I don’t eat fruit. No, I’m not allergic. Yes, I simply willingly choose not to eat it. Cue baffled look and judgment from every person I’ve encountered in my life.
Typical conversation:
Every person ever: You don’t eat fruit?!
Me: No.
Confused person: Any fruit at all?!
Me: Nope.
Disturbed person: But… but… but not even watermelon in the summer?
Me: I SAID NO.
I wasn’t always this way. I have vague memories of eating bananas and raisins (they come from grapes…) as a pre-schooler, but at some point everything changed. Now some fruit, like apples and grapes, completely gross me out, while others I am just apathetic towards. Pineapples, oranges, strawberries, understand one thing: I don’t hate you guys. I just prefer to spend my time eating other things.
I genuinely want to like fruit. I want to go apple picking and eat the apples right off the trees, and I want to have my way with a plate of chocolate covered strawberries like all the other kids. They just don’t do anything for me (except perhaps cover a major food group I should be consuming). I swear my parents will be able die happy the day I voluntarily eat a piece of fruit. They have bribed me countless times to try every variety and can often be heard saying, “Wait, Alex I don’t think you’ve tried kumquat yet – this might be the one!”
My interesting circumvention of fruit is well known by now. My friends know not to ask me to grab them a banana or apple in Lower (I always pick “the worst one!”… they all look the same). I even went dressed as a banana for Halloween this year – take that, haters! I’m hoping someday I will find my fruit-soulmate, but until then I will have to keep living life the best I can without it: by eating inordinate amounts of broccoli and hoping for the best.