When I am an old woman I will own 10 vacuums

Maybe it is the way the simple knife glides through at the two 45 degree angles, or how the wedge is handed over without a touch, or perhaps it is admitting that transitional peaches are better than organic. Decidely, it is the way they can pronounce mame sapote with flair. Yes, I have a crush on the fruit guys at New Seasons. I can not help it. It does not matter what the fruit man du jour looks like, smells like, or sounds like. They are all so good, so sweet. Like a bite out of Taylors Gold. Each week I visit the fruit man. Mind you, I do not intend to even speak to the fruit guys, but there they are, blade in the holster waiting to cut a piece of fruit for the baby and I. Half the time no words are exchanged, a simple nod in the direction of a certain pile of fruit, or a smile to the child with me. I never think of the fruit men until I see the fruit men, then it all begins anew. Suddenly, a delicate sliver of fruit is placed in my hand, a chimoya ends up in my cart. Two minutes later and satisfied, we move on to the vegetables and the dairy.