I craved berries. I tried to talk myself out of it. You have a frozen berry mix, make a smoothie. I don’t want frozen berries. I want fresh berries. They are too expensive, mix some frozen blueberries into yogurt. You’ll like it. I want fresh berries. Raspberries. Red raspberries.
I don’t do the grocery shopping. I make the list, but Andy does the shopping. There’s no way I could ask him to pick up fresh red raspberries. It seemed too extravagant. I ate a pomegranate instead. They were on sale last week. This would be so much better mixed with fresh berries. Where did my voice of reason go? How easily it flip-flops sides. Wasn’t this the voice fighting against fresh berries just a nod ago? And now it’s egging me on.
So maybe I mentioned to Andy how fresh berries sounded good. “We just had strawberries yesterday,” he said.
“I know,” I smiled sheepishly, “But I was thinking blueberries or maybe red raspberries.”
“There’s a frozen berry mix in the freezer.”
Sigh. The conversation ended and I put the thought of fresh berries out of my mind. I crunched an apple. Peeled an orange. And the days passed, but the craving for fresh berries didn’t.
Sunday night Andy came home with a smile. “I got you something,” he said, revealing a box of fresh blueberries.
I smiled. “I didn’t really need them.”
“I know,” he said, “but I wanted to buy them.”
“Just for you.”
I write this slice with a little red bowl of fresh blueberries next to me. I pop one in my mouth and taste true love.
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