More than clothes tags...
…Even more than
I find stickers on fruits and vegetables very irritating.
Time was, when I could buy my fruit and vegetables without having fancy-shmancy stickers over them, but not any more. Even in the wilds of the Jayanagar 9th block market, I have to buy apples that have tiny little labels on each one of them…and of course, in the US, it’s as if these are GROWN with these labels growing on them as well….I cannot buy bananas that are not “Chiquita” or “Dole” or apples that are not “Washington”….grrrrrr. The stickers on the tomatoes that I bought are too small to read. Instead of chopping them when I take them out to cook, I find myself squinting at their labels (when I know that all they will say is some delightful romantic story like “sun-ripened on the vine” or that all-time
favourite favorite, “bursting with flavor”.)
I don’t WANT sticky labels. They are SUCH affectionate things. They stick like
glue …. mud …. blame …. a secret stolen kiss in your memory …well…they STICK. One MIGHT be able to peel them off, but more often, I wind up with a nailful of apple or pear or tomato or whatever, and only the outer layer peels off and I have the lower layer grinning evilly at me from the vegetable or fruit, daring me to chop/slice/ puree it too…
I am quite happy NOT knowing that these are sun-ripened strawberries, piano-played-to-them parsnips, psychiatrist-treated pumpkins….I would be content with ordinary vegetables and fruit and not want their pedigree, their designer logo, and their wonderful benefits.
And why does EVERY banana in the bunch need a sticker? Why does a coconut, for goodness’ sake, need a shrink-wrap cover and a notice announcing, “Produce of Palmtreenia”? I don’t care where it comes from, only where it’s going…into our innards. I can choose my produce without knowing its past history and can see its delightful appearance without being told how it got that way.
Some of the less intrusive stickers:
I do feel doleful when I think of the effort, and extra cost, these stickers involve…as the bananas go through a conveyor belt with a machine, er, sticking the stickers on every fruit…
I have a fear that soon, no one will talk to me unless I have a tag sticking out my side announcing, “80% genuine, 10% crapola, 10% wrinkled”, or a sticker on my forehead (no, I am not going to mention some fleshy parts of me which might be more suitable for a sticker….they cannot be seen prominently if stuck there) stating, “Aged to Perfection in the Shade Away From the Sun for the Most Part.”
Grumble,grumble, grumble! Now…I must put the tags on this entry, too! :)