Here's a smart rule of thumb when shopping for groceries these days: look for signs that say "Locally grown" and then buy something else.

It's not hard to see that "Locally grown" is discriminatory. It's the grocery equivalent of saying, "Them other green peppers ain't like us," or "Them cucumbers next door don't speak English at home."

Frankly, I prefer imported fruit. It makes me feel special. It's like your Aunt Hildie from Wichita dropping by to see you, versus Cousin Arnold who lives three miles away. With Cousin Arnold you're barely getting off the couch, but with Hildie you break out the Pepperidge Farm. It's more special because she made an effort. I appreciate knowing that food racked up frequent flyer miles to get to me.

In addition, I like knowing my food was picked by exotic peoples. It's like a postcard from a foreign world. Maybe a basket of strawberries makes you think of whipped cream and shortcake, but to me it's a Mexican's way of saying, "Hey, look what I did today!"

Last, if Dr. Martin Luther King were alive today, I know what he'd say: "I look to a day when fruit will be judged not by the color of its skin but by sheer funky juiciness." Ignore all those signs and be fair to all produce, regardless of color, national heritage, or sexual orientation. None of this matters, whether you're looking for a boyfriend or a tomato. All that matters is that he's attractive and cheap.