I bet you know the kind of thing. What colour are you? What animal are you? What vegetable or fruit are you? You probably just toss something off, but I have had plenty of time to think about it recently. What kind of vegetable am I?
I would really like to be a strong, crunchy carrot. Full of colour and bite, even better raw than cooked, just ready to eat. Or what about a peach? Silky skin in beautiful, coordinated colours and a sweet, succulent core. The kind of fruit you would put in a pretty bowl and display on the table.
Actually, I think I am more like a leek or a celery stick. Long and lanky, bristling wisps on top, and no redeeming bends or curves. No good at using my feeble limbs, and speaking my own cause, that is just not me.
I find myself wavering between the two. Leek or celery, celery or leek? Perhaps my colour of skin can solve the issue? Discreetly, I cast sidelong glances down myself. Would one call the main impression pale green or maggot white? I am finding it still harder to find words for the exact nuances, but they are far from pretty. Neither can I deny there is a stark or importunate smell to me now and then. Don´t you think I know that I have been lying around in this buzzing cold counter beneath the clinical neon tubes for too long?
Most of the time I am just waiting. Once in a while lovely women pay me attention, stroking their life giving hands down my skinny body, dwelling briefly here and there. Some of them wear gloves. I don´t like that much, it creates such a distance between us. Oh, this one didn´t take me with her home either.
I do understand you, sister, I am completely useless, and would just lie about, rotting in your vegetable bin, old and stringy as I am after three months on my back.
What I loathe most of all is when there is more than one of them. When they stand there, discussing my future prospects as if I were not there. If I could just get one word in. Please, someone, couldn´t you just try to listen! All I am trying to say is, “please switch off that bloody machine!”