MY WIFE is what you might call a fruit & veggie-phile. Entering the produce section of a market, her eyes glaze over. It is as if she were a child molester walking into a sixth grade classroom. Her right eye develops a tic and her palms sweat. Although normally she rushes through her shopping list like a reality show contestant, her pace slows measurably when she is surrounded by watermelons, apples, and kiwi fruit. Her pupils dilate and she abandons her shopping cart, wandering amidst the fruits and vegetables like an extra in “The Walking Dead.”
Meanwhile, I go off in search of pastries. By the time I return, perhaps clutching a box of cake donuts to my chest like a treasure, she has filled the cart with non-caloric color. Melons, greens and berries predominate. Once, happening upon a local farmer’s market on a Saturday morning, she dove from the car before I could come to a full stop and went skittering about the displays of fresh produce like a kid on Xmas morning.
Anyway, by the time we get in line at the cashier, a glance at our cart would make one think that our two primary shopping goals are cat food and produce. Petioles of celery protrude from between bright red tomatoes and yellow squash, all upon a heavy foundation of cans of Friskies and Fancy Feast.
Driven by guilt and shame, I have since returned the box of donuts to the shelf. I am in the beginning stages of preparing myself psychologically for the onset of “healthy meals.” There will be salads. There will be squash casserole. There will be Southern-style green beans. For dessert, I can look forward to fresh berries in ricotta cheese.
HenryM