It is high time I turn to the painful subject of grapefruit.

The only foodstuff my mother obliged us to consume was orange juice; we had to have a glass every morning. I didn’t like it. It never tasted like the juice squeezed from oranges, nor like Hi-C; I found either preferable to the frozen glob made from concentrate.  I always had a desire for doing something apart from the usual.   So this led me to grapefruit.

One nice ‘perk’ for living in Phoenix is there is no lack of grapefruit. Alas, they all come on at once. Like home grown tomatoes in August, suddenly everyone has them. Sacks of grapefruit are left in office kitchens hoping someone will take them, but almost everyone has their own, growing in their yards.

I try to eat a grapefruit or drink grapefruit juice every morning. I recall the grapefruits from my youth were bitter; I had to put sugar on them. Either the grapefruits or my taste buds evolved, for they are now almost too sweet.

My friend Leon has some sort of plastic citrus peeler; he can skin a grapefruit in a few seconds. I have to use my fingers, which makes quite a mess, but it is jolly good fun to do.

Grapefruits get bad press, or their juice impedes the metabolism of certain prescription drugs, thus increasing the medicine levels in the blood stream. “Don’t eat with grapefruit!” is a common warning on prescription med bottles. Some of my patients have learned they can get a better buzz off of their Xanax if they take the pills with grapefruit juice (better living through chemistry).  Sometimes if you are not a regular consumer of grapefruit, they bring out cold sores.

Nerts to oranges with their reek of conventionalism and Anita Bryant. Give me a Ruby Red.

When you are tired of grapefruit, you are tired of life.

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