(If you are squeamish and/or too fond of dates, you may not want to read this.)
I bought some dates last week, probably for the first time ever. Oh I’ve probably bought them before, when I was a kid, at the behest of my mother. But I bought plain pitted dates of my own volition for perhaps the first time ever last week.
And I think I’ve always known this subconsciously, but I realize it anew as I look at them. Dates look exactly like cockroaches. It’s the same reddish brown colour, the same shine. There is a layer of skin on top of the flesh that can be craggy and cracked, but always shiny. Yeah, you read that sentence and you couldn’t tell whether it was about a date or a cockroach. I rest my case. It’s a thin skin in one case and a tough carapace in the other, but appearances don’t betray that difference. The end where the stem used to be is a little nubby on the date, just like the mouth end of a cockroach. I am not easily grossed out, so I continue to eat them, of course. Dates I mean, not cockroaches. Actually I didn’t eat cockroaches even as a kid.