So I’m wandering happily around the Rimi (local supermarket).
It’s late in the evening – my favourite time to shop, when there are no queues and the only other people around are those as disorganised as myself who still haven’t managed to make dinner by 9pm. Take… onnnnnn… meeeeeee! I sing merrily as I contemplate the cheese display. Not because I’m an especially devoted fan of A-Ha, but because the Rimi has the most wonderful selection of background music of any shop anywhere in the world. On one grocery expedition you can hear Whigfield, The Monkees, Dolly Parton, Franz Ferdinand and Spandau Ballet, one after the other, like some sort of really weird compilation album for the musically impaired. I love it. Take… meeeeee… onnnnnnn! I add, throwing some mozzerella into my basket and going to survey the pasta aisle.
I pick up a nectarine on my way past, as I’m pretty hungry what with the whole forgetting to eat until 9pm thing mentioned previously, and I always find it incredibly difficult to walk home with a rumbling tummy and a bag full of ingredients. This is dangerous – it’s the sort of thing that might lead a person to purchase a hotdog from a street vendor, and we all know how badly wrong that decision can go. Fruit is a much safer, healthier and cheaper alternative. Plus, it makes me feel better about the pint of cream I’ve just picked up for my pasta sauce when I see the nectarine sitting comfortingly in the corner of my basket, radiating healthiness and goodness (and partially concealing the crisps).
I indulge in a happy little dance past the freezers as S Club 7 begin to Reach for the Stars. The security guard gives me a troubled look. I expect he is sad that he is on duty and therefore cannot ask me if he can have the next dance, and I smile sympathetically at him, skipping breezily past him to the checkout, and put my shopping on the conveyor belt in time to the beat. Kas sul on kümme? asks the checkout girl. Jah, I reply, giving her the right change and trying not to look too pleased with myself. (Yesterday I went to the library, and asked the girl there if she spoke English… but now I can ask my familiar question in Estonian! It’s a nice change.)
I stride out into the night air, the opening chords of American Pie drifting after me, and rummage in my bag for my nectarine. It is not very nice, but this is only to be expected when you’ve been standing at the checkout staring at a display of sweets and chocolate. I concentrate on my feeling of nutritional superiority as I pass a guy eating a Snickers, and take another bite. It is only as I am passing under a streetlight that I happen to glimpse the large hole in the middle of the part I’ve just taken a bite from. The hole itself is not overly distressing. Nor is the decidedly brown colour of the rotting circle around it, all things considered. No, the part that concerns me most at this particular moment is the undoubtedly wriggly nature of the centre of the hole.
I stop mid-chew and try to calmly assess the situation. My calm assessment lasts for approximately an eighth of a second before I decide on an appropriate plan of action, and then I spit suddenly and forcefully. Bits of nectarine and worm spray elegantly into the air, and I gurgle panickily as I continue to spit in a slightly melodramatic fashion, oblivious to the disgusted stare of the Snickers man. Then I realise I’m still holding the offending piece of fruit, and fling it from me with an admittedly hysterical shriek. Snickers man makes a hasty decision, and walks away rather quickly.
I can spit no more, and yet I am terrified that a bit of worm may be lodged in my teeth or something, and will at some point slither down my throat and begin to build a nest in my colon and lay eggs there, or whatever it is that worms do in colons. The only thing for it is to ensure that any remaining worm in my mouth is well and truly dead, and so I grind my teeth furiously the whole way home, pausing occasionally to get the retching under control, and then dashing to the bathroom to brush my teeth somewhat violently for a very long time.
And this is why I shall never eat fruit ever ever ever again. The End.
Sorry, you weren’t eating or anything, were you?