To Be A Prune

“How do you make a hormone?”

“I don’t know, how?”

“Don’t pay her!”


I need to be a prune.

Prunes are dry, devoid of water, fluid, hormones, blood.  They don’t have mood swings.  Prunes are steady: they’re never grumpy or cross.  Prunes are constant.  Prunes don’t worry or feel guilt, or feel bad about anything really.  They don’t have to, because prunes always get it right the first time.

A prune knows it’s place in the world.  It knows its strengths and doesn’t concern itself with weakness.  Prunes to their job and the rest of the world be damned.  Prunes are always on time.  Prunes aren’t vain, ever.  They don’t anguish over silly things like wrinkles: a warm bath and pop!  Instant youth!

A prune is never in it for the attention.  You can take it or leave it, and it really means that.  It never feels the need to rub it in your face.  A prune is mannerly by default because it’s never rude or discourteous.  Whether or not its taste is impeccable is irrelevant:  it’s a matter of choice and it understands that.  Prunes don’t judge.

Prunes never lack self-confidence.  They never torture themselves about being apple-shaped or pear-shaped: they’re all prune-shaped, and that’s good enough, always.

I need to be a prune.


3 thoughts on “To Be A Prune

  1. I often invite two or three prunes to join me for breakfast, where I wouldn’t dream of asking in an impudent plum. You have defended the sterling, trustworthy character of the prune most admirably.

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