Peaches

I have a love-hate relationship with peaches. My friend left a pile of fresh picked peaches on my table and, as I tried to decide if I should eat them, I was reminded of the struggles I always have with the fruit. The problem lies in their juiciness. There is nothing that tastes better than a ripe peach, but there’s also nothing messier. For me the prospect of anything messy is daunting. I am a mess enough myself without food that contributes to the chaos. I remember someone in high school once telling me that I would be really pretty if I just brushed my hair every once in a while. I did occasionally brush my hair. On that particular day I had gone to extra lengths to try and get the unruly strands into order. It was a lost cause and the majority of the time I simply washed my hair and let it be.Today I gave in to my need to taste the soft flesh of the peach and feel the nectar dribble down my chin. I’m comfortable in my skin now, although I do wish I was more put together. I guess we can’t ever have it all.