Love in the Avocado Section

I love things that are indescribable, like the taste of an avocado, or the smell of a gardenia. — Barbra Streisand

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Photo by Kimia Zarifi on Unsplash

I was commiserating with a friend on the phone tonight about our virtual dating woes.

“No one is funny on there!” he lamented.

“I know! And they ask the dumbest questions. A guy asked me, if I had a time machine, where would I travel?

I said, to any time before my Dad died. And he wrote back, ‘:)’!

I get it if you don’t know what to say, but use words, at least. I just shared my most vulnerable, life-changing event with you!”

“Unbelievable!” my friend laughed in agreement.

I am on some apps, but never actually meet anyone, and I’ve accepted that maybe I’m just not in the state of mind to attract the right person.

And I’m ok with that.

I don’t feel the need to always be in a relationship.

Though some people want that, I don’t mind spending time with myself to figure out what I actually like, who I actually want to be.

Love yourself first and all that platitude- jazz.

That being said, if you’re single, I think the best place to meet someone right now is at the grocery store in the avocado section.

Yes, I know I should be ordering my groceries like everyone else, but I still like going to my local market occasionally, late at night, when very few people are shopping, to buy ridiculously overpriced green smoothies in glass bottles, that one of my exes would have chided me for buying.

Now, I don’t want to date any guy who is looking for a good deal. I want a guy looking for the real deal. And these smoothies are the real deal, even if they’re also a real $15.

You can learn so much shopping alone.

I don’t have to ask anyone for permission to spoil myself. I can buy a bar of lavender soap for $10 if I’m in the mood. (I can also return it when I look at my bank account later).

It’s my basket, my credit card, and my irrational decisions.

The avocado section is the best place to meet someone, because you can tell how much time a guy or gal spends with his/her avocados.

Do they pick up a lot and then choose none? Are they picky? Are they specific? Do they know how to tell which ones are ripe and which aren’t even close? Are they gentle when holding them? Do they know how to caress them?

Stop those thoughts! I’m speaking literally here. About AVOCADOS.

Avocados are a very particular fruit. Very rarely do you find a perfect one. When you do, it’s like hitting the jackpot. “Wow!” you exclaim as you open it at the exact right time, “Nailed it!”

I did a stand-up show the other night outside The Magic Castle in Hollywood, my first live show in about two months.

It’s a fun show for cars, and though the audience can’t honk, and you can’t hear their laughter, they are given hand-clappers that they wave out their windows and politely clap throughout your set, and though it’s strange at first, you adjust to the pattering of applause it generates after every joke, echoing through the night air, and reminding you:

We are here! And we’re laughing, even if you cannot hear us. We hear you! We’re here in the darkness. Our faces may be hidden, but we have eyes, and we’re looking out at you, looking at us. Just keep going. We’ve got you! We’re here.

After I did two sets, under the stars, on the beautiful pop-up stage in front of the glowing, decorated castle, saying hello to fellow comics I hadn’t seen for months, I left feeling rejuvenated, almost giddy.

I had connected, tried some new jokes, expressed a few thoughts.

Comedy was still appreciated, valued.

It wasn’t as we remembered it, but was still surviving in this surreal new world.

Wanting to end my uplifting evening on a high-note, I drove to my favorite grocery store.

It was late, and nobody was there except one girl.

She was wearing a leopard print mask, an oversized purple sweatshirt, and tie-dyed sweatpants.

An eclectic ensemble, I thought.

She was lingering by the avocados.

As I picked up a seemingly ripe one, and held it in my hand, she caught me off guard.

“Hi” she said, as if she knew me.

“Hi,” I said back.

“How was your night?” She was disarmingly curious.

“Not bad. Yours?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Oh really?”

“I’m breathing, aren’t I?” she smiled through her mask.

We were about the same age and both a bit quirky, awkward.

“Yes. What more could you ask for, right?” I agreed.

“Exactly! I have a pulse and my heart is beating.” She reached out and also grabbed an avocado.

“Yes. I can see that.”

“Well, I hope you have the loveliest holiday.”

She was effortlessly genuine. (Or a little tipsy). Either way, I liked her vibe.

“Thanks, you, too.”

“I really like your outfit. You look really cute.”

“Oh thanks.”

I looked down to remember what I was wearing. It was a gray pleather jacket with black jeans and black boots. Not nearly as inspired as her creative, playful attire.

When getting dressed that night, I had laughed thinking, man I forget how to put an outfit together! It’s been so long.

I smiled at her reassurance.

“I like yours too,” I said.

I was still holding the avocado, and even though I knew it was too ripe, I put it in my basket.

“Well, have a good night,” I said walking away with my overly ripe avocado, but a new sense of hope and comfort knowing that there was another girl looking for love on a Saturday night at my same, secret spot.

And maybe we didn’t find it that night (I’m still attracted to men, I’m afraid), but we reached out and said hello, and let each other know,

We’re out here. Don’t worry. It might be dark, but we’re here.

Somewhere in the avocado section,

when you least expect it.

Comedian of all trades.

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