Peachy

“Moving to the country, going to eat a lot of peaches.”

-George Washington

I love peaches in the summertime. Especially when they’re good ones from the farmer’s market – not the crap you get at the grocery store. I always make a peach cobbler at least once in the summer – and then, because the rest of my family hates peaches, I eat the whole thing myself.

But please tell me – is there anything more gross than watching someone eat a whole peach? I can’t even stand myself when I do it. First of all, you can’t avoid making a weird mouth noise when you bite into one. It’s not like an apple. There’s a juice situation that needs to be controlled. Then, no matter how much of a vaccuum your mouth is, juice tends to dribble off the peach, down your hand, and onto whatever surface you happen to be eating on. I usually have to have a pile of napkins nearby, and go through at least three per peach.

Slicing the peach can mitigate some of the mess. It at least eliminates most of the mouth grossness. The juice is still a problem with peach slices, however.

Once I am finished with my peach, I need a full wipedown. I have to wash my face and hands to clean off the peach residue. It’s almost like I revert to toddler-hood in how messy I am with it.

In fact, I would go so far as to say that a good, Clockwork Orange-style torture technique would be to force someone to watch me eat a peach. It would be so horrific, it would definitely make even the most hardened of criminals pledge to reform.

The same goes for me and salads, but for entirely different reasons. If you are so unfortunate as to be with me when I order a salad at a restaurant, you may as well order yourself another beer, because you are going to be there a while. I might be the world’s slowest salad eater. Also: Chinese food. Painfully slow. Inevitably there is one ingredient in the dish that I don’t eat, so I pick whatever ingredient it is out of the dish, and ensure my bite of food does not contain any shreds of said ingredient. It’s a process that goes something like this: pick, pick, stir, bite. Stir, pick, pick, bite. It will infuriate you if you ever see it in action.

I feel bad for my husband, sometimes. I really do.

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