Eat it.

I have this childhood related obsession with peaches. And I've never thought it necessary to talk about it because it's what I spent my eng. majorwork doing...yep, 7000 words relevant to peaches. But not the tiny little shits you get at Woolies. See, the peaches in Beijing during september are about the size of your heart, and swells your heart to about 5 times it's size, with overwhelming love juice (I am just referring to fruit juice here). It's probably one of the greatest things I've ever eaten, and the fact that I haven't had one in about ..6 years, made me all the more keen to shove a few boxes of these down. So when I arrived in Beijing, it was one of the first things I thought of. GOD DAMN PEACHES. So I got to my grandparent's house, and my grandpa's waiting outside the door with a peach in his hand. So cute, hah. I take it inside and cut it in half, and my mouth's suspended in accumulating saliva action, when I discover something wiggling, like a tiny little version of my finger. Hi, wormy thing. Not being "dude" enough to just flick it off and chomp my peachy delish down, I squealed "ew, There's a wormy thing!" but kept awkwardly holding the peach, positioning my fingers as far as I could from the greyish fleshy thing. Grandmahzah looked at me seriously, (and just for reference, my grandma is this pedantic little clean freak who is as picky with cleanliness/hygiene, as I am with books) and peered at Mr. wormy thing and said "You should eat it." I struggled to understand. "No." She looked at me with the same expression I imagine I looked at her with. We were so confused. She tried first. "You see, if there's a bug, it means the peach is sweet, and good. Eat it." I refused to listen. "It's a bug, a dirty, dirty bug." "Eat it." "..Okay."

She left the room and I chucked it out. All guilt.