Tasted the first grapes. Ben broke a tiny bunch off and held them up over my face, and an earwig promptly fell off from somewhere in the middle, unseen, right into my open mouth.
I didn't know I could scream so loud.
After I was done spitting and pawing at my face and trying to throw up, I mean.
You got it, he said, pointing at a lovely splash on a concrete block. I look closely and see a crushed HALF.
WHERE'S THE OTHER HALF?
You probably ate it.
WHAT.
They're supposed to be full of protein.
Cue more screaming.
Ben ate a few to show me it was no big deal. Jesus Christ. That just made the screams compound on top of one another. I don't know what he was thinking. It took almost an hour and the contents of four houses of people running out to the yard to get me from the screaming to the mildly-hyperventilating but-still-can't-speak stage.
We're going to spend the rest of the day sharpening our pitchforks and making as many torches as we can before dark. The war is ON.
