I usually select my morning grapefruits very well. I look at the ones that are farthest away from the edge of the shelf – these are the ones that are always neglected, unseen, they are the base of the pyramid and they create that perfect shape for the other grapefruits to lay high and look at the world. I hug them lightly with my fingers, i ask them how they are and if they are the one – the one willing to go for a short walk. I then pick one, red, round, not too soft and not too hard. I pay the usual 50-60 cents for it, smile, wish the cashier a good day and off to the office i am.
The chosen one is usually laying on my table, watching me work, till lunch time. Every day, for the last month or so. Including today.
But today, even if i was sure i had chosen wisely, after having peeled it off, my grapefruit was damaged. It had gone bad. I tried to save at least part of it, but in the trash bin it went.
Sad sad grapefruitless afternoon.
I get home, still thinking about my choice and the poor bad grapefruit, and what do i see? Not one, not two, but 4 grapefruits on the table.
For when one door closes, another one opens. In my case, 4 more opened. Or were opened, by M.