I splurge on Honeycrisp apples. Let’s not tell my kids. I hide them. I cut them in secret. They are my favorite. You may call them a guilty pleasure.
Why is something that isn’t harmful defined as a guilty pleasure? Should I feel guilty for the pleasure of Honeycrisp apples?
I can talk like a hardnose, but the truth is I always (sometimes) share my Honeycrisp apples. I cut thick slices in secret. Then I cut them again, into thinner, shareable slices.
As a kid swings through the kitchen, I whisper, hushed and rough like a wolf in the woods, “Hey, try one.”
When another sits at the end of the counter and tells me about his day, I extend a sliver.
When one tries to swipe a slice off the cutting board, I poke his ribs and say, “I’m not sharing.”
“You are now,” he says and grabs another slice.
When Andy turns from sautéing the mushrooms and onions, I whisper, “You have to try one.”
“Shhh, don’t tell anyone it’s Honeycrisp time,” he says and winks.
With each crunchy bite, I remember that I am not failing my to do list; I am not too far behind; I do not fall short. It is impossible to think negative things while crunching the delicate sweetness of a Honeycrisp apple.
I close my eyes and the crisp bites set my soul right.
Honeycrisp apples are among the most expensive apple varieties. It is because their stems must be clipped in order to prevent damage to the surrounding apples when packed. Their expense helps land them in the guilty pleasure category. Yet, they are a relatively cheap gift. They are easy to hide in someone’s purse or jacket pocket. They are easy to offer as a secret slice when someone spins through the kitchen. They can be a secret, as is expected of guilty pleasures.
If this is a guilty pleasure, then I am most definitely indulgent, and I will spread it around. I splurge on Honeycrisp apples. My kids already know.
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