We’re big fruit eaters around here; a dinner just isn’t complete without it, even if it sometimes shows. Right now, we are enjoying what I am deeming the great fruit trifecta. Watermelons–M’s very favorite–just appeared at Costco, and we splurged on trying one, even though we knew it wasn’t quite the season yet. It went into the cart with our usual pineapple and yet another package of strawberries, since they are in season.
Magically enough, all three choices turned out to be perfect. No, really. PERFECT. Perfect pineapple. Perfect strawberries. Perfect watermelon, even if it’s not quite the season yet. This never happens, not all at once. We’re mowing through it with bittersweet joy, since it really is so very uncommon.
But yesterday K popped up to her seat at the kitchen bar, seeking a snack. “I have lots of great fruit,” I boasted proudly. “Okay,” says K. “I’d like some pear and banana.”
Right. Not the magically delicious luckily-charmed fruit trifecta. Pear and banana. Which I don’t have because who wouldn’t want to eat perfect watermelon and strawberries and pineapple, when we go so much of the year without them? We want what we don’t have, all too often. She settled for watermelon, reluctantly, and I secretly rejoiced. If I get some pear and banana, that surely means more of the other fruit for me.