I fondly recall the days when i was a greengrocer, what a happy life i led: from nine in the morning until late on a summers afternoon, i'd be chatting merrily with numerous housewives and grinning at them meaningfully as i weighed their melons in my own unique way.

My plums were the talk of the village, my sprouts were long-standing local legend and my prize marrow was never received with anything less than a squeak of delight or a nervous gasp of shock.

Those were the days, my salad days, when i greeted each Madam or Miss with a friendly hello and made it my business to ensure she always left with a contented smile on her face, no matter how much trouble was required to achieve her complete and utter satisfaction.

Nothing gladdened my heart more than standing proudly upright at my counter while a small queue of local ladies fiddled with their loose change anxiously, each awaiting her turn, hoping that the woman in front wouldn't bruise my fruit too much or squeeze my best banana until it was useless, battered and mushy.

At Christmas, i'd treat them to the sight of my nuts roasting on an open fire, something which they all adored and returned year after year to witness.

It all had to end one day though, my early retirement brought on by the unsavoury incident inlvolving the neighbourhood weight-watchers club, a bunch of celery, a massive parsnip and some red hot chilli peppers.

It is a very traumatic and terrible tale which i do not feel quite able to relate just yet but i can truly say that my eyes still water at the thought of it all, even all these years later.
_dreamzgirl10
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