The Bunch of Grapes

Looking at the bunch of grapes on the kitchen table the other day, and picking the firmest reddest grapes off of that bunch reminded Marash Girl of her father and her mother.

First, her mother.

Her mother could not bear to look at a bunch of grapes with grapeless stems sticking out.  Unsightly!  Whenever her mother served a bunch of grapes, she would always cut off sweet little bunches of 4 or 5 grapes and place them in a bowl, thus avoiding the future unsightliness of a bunch of grapes with grapeless stems  . . .  or graceless stems, as this spell correct wishes to state!

Next, her father.

Her father would look at a bunch of grapes and remember the days in Marash when all they had to eat was a bunch of grapes.  He remembered how they would pluck off the most perfect grapes first, and eat those.  Soon they would be eating the grapes that didn't look quite so good.  And finally, when they were really hungry, which often they were, they would eat the rotten grapes.