A Mouth Full of Seeds

On our weekly supermarket trip this past weekend, I was craving some grapes and planned on stocking up. Stocking up, of course, meant finding the smallest bag that would weigh the least and take up less of my money. Produce doesn’t come cheap.

While scoping out the weekly circular, B found a deal on grapes; 99 cents a pound! The grapes were halfway to my cart when I realized that they were green. Normally, I love a nice green grape. But those red ones next to the green ones were so fat and juicy. And for only $1.29/pound. I would have been a sucker to buy the sickly green ones.

At home, I grabbed a handful of grapes to snack on while we unloaded the groceries. I love biting into a nice big grape...and biting through half a dozen seeds. It’s my snack of choice, really. B gave me his “really, Brig?” look while I spit into the trash can, but I was too busy pulling seed remnants from my teeth to care (I merit this look like ten times a day, I can’t bask in every single one).

In my defense, those grapes are worth the hassle. Now that I know to avoid the seed, I can snack at ease. They’re so fat and juicy, they put the farmer of my usual grapes to shame. Guess there really is something special in that California sunshine.

I was eating some last night, and all the grinding and spitting took me back to my softball days. Remember sunflower seeds? And how they were the coolest snack EVER? My girls and I would stop at the corner store before every game to make sure we all had a packet of those for the duggout. God, we were cool. Sitting on the bench, gnawing at a handful of sunflower seeds, spitting into the dirt like the hot-shots we were. Doesn’t matter that we went defeated every season. For those moments in the dugout, we were in the majors.

That’s how I felt last night, munching away on my grapes, pausing every so often to spit out a seed. I was in the big leagues again. Minus the muddy cleats and generic cheers. Although I may have been singing softly to myself “Gee-double-oh-Dee Eee-Why-Eee. Good eye, good eye, good eye!” I’d love to meet the lyrical geniuses who invented adolescent girls softball cheers.

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