PESKY BLUEBERRIES

 

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As I pulled them out of the refrigerator, the pesky blueberries managed to push the flimsy plastic carton open and escape. They rolled merrily all over my tiled kitchen floor. “Wheee!” they giggled as I stood uttering expletives.

After competing with one another as to who could roll the farthest, they all finally came to a stop. I stood still, frowning, unable to take a step forward or backward without crushing a tiny blue ball. They looked up at me barely able to control their laughter.

“It’s not funny,” I admonished them. “Your friends did this once before last year. Have you all spread the word about how easy it is to get out of those thin little boxes?”

None of them answered me.

“I will bet dollars to doughnuts that there is someone somewhere in the US right now staring at their kitchen floor full of blueberries just as I am. It’s a conspiracy, isn’t it?”

They lay in guilty silence.

I glared back at them, put my hands on my hips, and sighed with frustration. It was going to be a pain in the tush to have to pick them all up, one by one.

“Don’t waste us!” I heard a little one hiding under the refrigerator whisper plaintively.

They all chimed in, “Yes! Please, please! We’re sorry. We’ll be good! We won’t do it again”

“You’re damn right you’ll be good,“ I said as I stooped and picked up the tiny one hiding under the freezer door.

“Don’t throw me away!” she whimpered.

“I’m not,” I said as I dropped her back in the box. “I’m going to wash you all off. And once you are clean, you can bet your little navy-blue booties that I’m not putting you back in that silly carton again. You are all going to go into a nice, snug, tightly-covered box. Fun’s over. Oops. Sorry,” I muttered as I squashed one.

Careful but grumpy, I plucked the rest of them of the floor and put them into the wire basket to wash in the spray of the sink faucet.

“Umm, rain!  Yumm,” they murmured as they rolled against one another in the rush of water.

“You’re not going to like it so well, when I press you into the hot oatmeal I’m about to cook.”

“Oh, yes, we will. It will remind us of being in the hot, hot sun!” Having been reunited, they started speaking in unison.

I was beginning to feel guilty. “But, then, you know, I’m going to…well…eat you.” “Oh, we know that. Don’t worry. That’s fun for us too!  It’s a great adventure. Going down to a stomach, mixing it up with some juices and other stuff.”

“Really?” I said as I shook the water off them, put the basket on the counter, and reached into the cabinet for a hard plastic storage box. “That’s okay with you?”

They all nodded yes as I tipped them into the container.

“Well, I’m so glad it is, because I do love you. You really are delicious!”

“And we love you, too! We’re so healthy and good for you! And, really, it’s quite exciting going through your intestines while we wait for your lunch and dinner.”

I laughed. “Sounds like quite an experience.” I wasn’t so sure I’d like it even if I were a blueberry.

They snuggled up in the box—fitting perfectly. “We saw some wine and pizza back in that cold place where we were. Are you going to have those tonight?”

“We’ll see,” I said as I picked up the lid.

“Because, you know, you really should start cutting down on the carbs and the…”

I quickly snapped the lid shut, silencing them. I am very glad they’re healthy for me, but the last thing I need is diet advice from a bunch of know-it-all renegade             organic blueberries.