Eating Electric, from Vampire Grandma
The vampire grandmas relished the baby lettuce salads with tender little beets, bits of soil still clinging to them. Ruth Leslie Wright glugged fresh-squeezed juice like an alcoholic; she sometimes flew to Florida and spent the day driving among citrus groves downing juice from blood oranges she picked herself, tucking the raw fruit into her press, the scarlet juice running into the glass. And they wanted raw, fertilized eggs, warm from the nest, a delicacy which they loved to suck.
They wanted a dose of electric food—food with the aura still glowing. They wanted to put the glowing food in their mouths and feel it with their tongues, caress it in their mouths before it went down, suck the juice from it so they could feel the light of life disappear down their lovely, white throats. Going, going, gone. Ruth Leslie Wright said, “We must have electric food.” No one argued.
Ruth Leslie Wright! She got everyone—human or vampire—to agree with her, eventually.