cauliflower. tomatoes. meyer lemons. blood oranges and duh, tangelos.
There used to be a guy at the farmers’ market who would feed me. He would put bites of hummus on pita chips and sell me the world. Occasionally, at a discount. He’s not there anymore, but the stand still is. I haven’t bought anything from there since he last called me “Mademoiselle.”
There’s another guy trying to feed me. He’s trying to feed me pears. I don’t like pears. (♥: Hello, Petulant Child.) Okay, I don’t like most pears. And I, definitely, don’t buy them.
Since the first time he got me with, “try this,” I always look before I reach. I smile and say no, thank you. Today, he said that I’m always smiling. I think it’s because the farmers’ market is like the goodness canal to me. That, and I’m trying to figure out how long it’s going to take me to eat every last blood orange and tangelo that will be tossed into my tote.
I am so easy. I am so predictable. I am so happy.
Nikki♥
