Wednesday, 12 April 2017
There was a girl I liked, but I wasn't sure if she liked me. We'd seen each other a few times, but I wasn't quite sure what was going on - I was never very good at reading signals. One thing we'd talked about was my aversion to fruit skin, and hairy fruit skins, like peaches and apricots, in particular - to such a degree that I cannot touch them (or even think about them) without the hairs on my arms standing on end. One evening she knocked on the door of my apartment. I opened it, and she was standing there with a peach. She'd brought it so that she could peel it for me, so that I could eat a peach. As I recall, the peach itself was not very good, but the message conveyed by it was.