On Seeded Fruit

On this dry winter morning I'm reminiscing about Valentine's Day and getting massively lost in the US Botanical Gardens, which is the best, most humid space in the entire city in the winter. I cannot wait until spring when the National Arboretum is back in play and the cherry blossoms come out. I just keep imagining myself picnicking under a sea of white-ish pink flowers with a bow in my hair and a tiny dog in a picnic basket. I'm also an blissfully happy tiny white person in this fantasy. Maybe wearing ruby red shoes, but I digress.

The other day I may have been spectacularly not sober when my husband and I had a really in-depth conversation about fruit. We were eating seeded grapes and watching Netflix (cause that's how we do) and after researching whether the seeds were safe to eat or not, I had a major epiphany about how badly we were [probably, this is not a well researched stance] destroying the environment via food production and growing unnatural seedless fruit.  (I may have called all these fruit eunuchs more than once in my, again, not sober epiphany.) In fact, during my seed research I found out that seeds are actually very good for you, so I made Brad pledge with me to never buy seedless grapes - or fruit of any kind - again. 

His response: "Sounds good to me, [insert adorable nickname here]. Seeded grapes are cheaper anyway."

I'm coming off of a two month reading binge of the

Tao of Pooh


Te of Piglet

and both

Winnie the Pooh

books. All I can think of is how we should all be bumbling around like Pooh bear- living off the land, writing bad poetry, and spreading the seeds of fruit so they grow far and wide across the wilderness. As we were all intended.