Seattle Guy and I broke up months ago after a week together in California. Over the course of those seven shitty days, we fought. A lot. And if I had to boil it down to the fight that tipped the scale and changed everything (or rather the moment where I thought, “WTF is up with this dude and why the eff am I dating him???”), I’d say it was the one about fruit.

We were out to dinner with one of my oldest friends having a decent enough time discussing who knows what when the subject of my distaste for raspberries came up. I said I hated them. In response, Seattle Guy asked me if I liked blackberries. I said I did.

And that’s when the trouble began. In his mind, liking blackberries but disliking raspberries was impossible, because the two fruits “taste exactly the same.” I disagreed (whoopsies!) and said I thought they were nothing alike. But he persisted, insisting that if I were to take a blind taste test, he was certain I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two. And so I pushed back (whoopsies again!), insisting that I would. This ping-pong went on for a few more minutes but ended copasetically enough (or so I thought) when the owner of the restaurant kicked us out so he could close the place down. But when we got up to leave, Seattle Guy pulled me aside and said something like, “That conversation really wasn’t working for me.”

Um, huh?

In the car on the way back to my friend’s house where we were staying, my utter confusion about what the hell had just happened quickly turned to anger. In keeping with the trend of trip, I knew I was going to have to talk through yet another one instead of spending time with a bestie that I hadn’t seen in years. So when we arrived home, I pulled him into the bedroom and let ‘er rip. I said that I was over his apparent need to be an authority on everything, his ego that wouldn’t quit, and a bunch of other shit that I’ve since blocked out (PTSD and all). And he let loose on me too. In short, we continued to bicker, fight, and misunderstand each other for the rest of the week. As soon as the trip was over, we broke up in the suckiest of ways.

Last week on our daily pilgrimage to Whole Foods, Joslyn and I stumbled upon a tasting display featuring the two berries in question. My chance to prove to the world (and by “the world” I mean myself) that I could in fact distinguish the difference between a raspberry and a blackberry in a blind taste test was upon me.

Delighted by the impending taste of victory, I closed my eyes and Joslyn put a berry in my mouth. I chewed it up, opened my eyes, and with all the confidence of the Catholic church declaring that the Earth is flat, proclaimed, “It’s a blackberry. Obvi.”

Joslyn was dismayed. It was a raspberry. Seattle Guy was right. I couldn’t tell the difference between the two after all. But thank Allah that at that California pizzeria months ago, I thought I could. Otherwise, we’d probably be fighting about horseradish (which I hate, by the way*).

* Once I told Seattle Guy that I don’t like horseradish. In response, he asked if I like wasabi. Really, dude?

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