inbetween

Before me lies what will soon been the empty remains of a delicate and perfectly ripe avocado. Yum.

I stare at the avocado. "How shall I eat you?" I ask in my best vampire voice. No response from the avocado, and I suddenly notice that they never respond to me when I speak to them. Then I notice the three people looking at me funny, and decide to play with it a little more.

Avocados ripen quickly in the presence of bananas. And much more quickly in the presence of over-ripened bananas.

"Well... If you aren't going to tell me your secrets, you cute little green minion, I'll just have to cute you open and eat you." Someone at the table next to me gets up to leave. "I bet you're an alien. That's why your green isn't it?" I wipe short knife on a napkin. "Well... don't worry. This'll hurt you more than me."

I don't like bananas as much as I like avocados.

I'm getting a bit of a crowd now, or perhaps the coffee shop is starting to fill up. "I'll go easy on you if you tell me where you came from." I offer, not expecting a response. Some guy from the crowd yells out, "California, I can see the sticker fruitcake." I assume that he would vote Republican, no sense of humor.

To grow an avocado plant from the pit, one must first allow the pit to dry completely. Then, suspend the pit in some shallow water until the pit cracks open. Plant the pit, and wait a year for a single avocado sprout.

The knife slides into the soft skin of the avocado, point first. Somewhere, someone sighs. I slide the knife all around the avocado, just gently pulling on the shaft and twisting the fruit.

Avocados don't want to be anthropomorphized.

I've given up on the crowd-pleasing dialog with the inanimate food. The two halves twist apart easily, and the pit falls to the floor. The inside is perfect, shades of yellow and green, not even a hint of brown. "I can see your innards now!" just slips from my mouth as I pick up the balsamic vinegar.

Guacamole turns brown due to enzymatic reaction with oxygen. You can keep it green by submerging it it water, but then you get soggy Guacamole. Plastic wrap works too.

Splish, splash, and a dash of salt; time for the spoon to do its thing. The flesh tastes like butter: smooth and fatty. Scoop after scoop of tasty, sweet avocado meat leap down my belly and make me happy. People are still looking at me weird, but that's because I'm getting alien-green avocado goo on the keyboard.