I NO LONGER RECALL whether, in my nine years as a so-called blogger, I’ve written about certain themes here, or just riffed on them on FaceBook. So forgive me if you’ve heard this one before.
I don’t love bananas. I tolerate them. I feel obligated to eat them. Like it’s something I ought to do, because they’re good for you. All that potassium!
I believe there’s only a very small window when a banana’s ripeness is within the Ideal Eating Zone, and it’s usually something like 12:30pm – 5:00pm on a Thursday. Before that, too firm. After, too soft and good only for adding to fruit smoothies or making banana bread.
I’ve been known to buy one because I feel like I should, then carry it around until it is past The Window. It turns out, bananas are not nearly so good for you when you don’t actually eat them.
You can disagree, but this is how I feel about them.
This was my mindset as I purchased, on my way to work this morning, a banana and a bottle of water from a vendor. I had both hunger and thirst, and these items seemed the most efficient way to remedy both conditions. I placed my items at the register.
Cashier: A water and a banana.
Me (not yet sufficiently caffeinated): A water and a banana.
Cashier: $3.50, please.
Me (answering the question he had not even remotely asked): Bananas are healthy. I feel like I ought to eat them.
Cashier: I can’t eat ’em. The doctor says all that potassium isn’t good for me.
Me (looking wistfully at the trays of banana muffins): I wish I had that excuse.
I was a good girl today. I ate the banana, even as I wished for the muffin. (I make no promises concerning tomorrow.)