This week, I bought a pineapple. Now, I know pineapple is not exotic. However, the past 10 years, the span of my grocery shopping existence, I ran from the sight of an entire pineapple. I mean, they are big, heavy and they can hurt you-- those spikes! So, I usually resorted to purchasing canned pineapple. So, on a whim we bought pineapple last week, because after close examination I saw they now come with directions. I can handle carving directions, Right? Well it has sat in my fridge since I took it from its fellow spikey-mohawk friends. I hear its laughter every time I open the fridge, like those oinking pig fridge alarms. And then, last night I was publicly shamed. A dear friend of mine, and food lover, completely chopped through a pineapple. At their house for a summer bbq, A. explained that I am afraid of REAL pineapple. And well, I realized then and there I needed to get over my fear of punk fruit.
Not one to ever back down from a challenge, I anialated that sucker.
