Grape

I. Am a grape. You know, one of those wrinkly ones that sits at the bottom of the bag and no one wants to touch. They forget about me; intentionally. So, I guess it’s not forgetting. It’s ignoring. Being at the bottom of the bag is like being at the bottom of the pyramid, the bottom of the food chain, the social hierarchy, the class, the bottom of the page in small fine print that nobody ever reads. I am the ugly duckling, Fish out of water, lone wolf, odd bird, Chicken Little, oddball, square peg in a round hole. Can you find the green skittle in the bag of red m&m’s? Because that would be me too. How about the famous black sheep? Or the beast amongst the beauties? And I have it wayworse. Because the Beast only has to be around one beauty. They’re not even that beautiful. Just because they’re shinier and less mushy than me does not mean that they’re nicer or friendlier, or smarter, or funnier. So. When I get sad, and when I make my journey to that shiny silver cylinder with the nice plastic lining and the fancy foot pedal that makes the lid go ‘pop’, it makes me feel better to remember, that they got; eaten. Us ugly ones? We always last longer J