Today is the day to try to forget about it.

An Open Letter to the Guys who Work in the Produce Section of the Treasure Island in My Office Building

I don't know how you guys do it. Are you required to taste all the fruits as they come in each day? I think it began as a whim, or perhaps I was just overcome by my frustration at one mealy apple too many, or a plethora of dry, unappealing oranges. I asked "What's good today?" And you knew! You always know.

I think I first began thinking of you so fondly when the younger guy who works there recommended I try the Pink Ladies. If you're a woman and a man recommends something called "pink ladies" to you, if you don't smile, you're a robot. But moreso, I have pretty much been unwavering in my apple choices over the years. Unless honeysweets are available, I'm a Fuji woman.

But the pink ladies, well, what can I say? You were right. And they were on sale.

The last time I saw you, you recommended the oranges. Oranges in summer? I thought they were out of season. "You'll like these," one of your representatives said, though, as if he knew what exactly I would like. I gestured hopefully to the cherries. "And these?"

"The cherries, they're good too." Well, the oranges tasted like candy and I ate all the cherries in one day. You magnificent fruit-sellers.

I have to say I don't care that much for the rest of your grocery store. Your clientele is snobbish, your goods overpriced, your cashiers lazy and worst of all, I paid way too much one time for a package of Dean & Deluca yankee beans that were stale and ended up ruining my first attempt at pasta e fagiole.

But you fruit men keep me coming back. You redeem your store. I don't have a favorite salesperson, a hair stylist I confide in, a psychic who I can consult with, but I like having you in my life. Thank you, fruit guys. I can't wait until the donut peaches come in.