J. Alfred didn’t, but I do. I also dare to wear my trousers rolled, to walk along beaches, and a host of other scary things. Speaking of walking along beaches, about 20 years ago one of my very dearest friends called me frantically from her honeymoon in Florida to say that her new husband had freaked out after they went for a walk on the beach and she took off her shoes to wade in the lapping water. He angrily told her that “nobody else was doing that!” Needless to say, that marriage lasted all of a month (that clearly wasn’t the only problem).
At any rate, I’m writing about peaches, since I have some that have been picked off a local tree (thanks Liz!). I have been eating them for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. They are so beautiful and luscious. I can’t remember the exact type, but they have lots of red veining, and they drip when you bite into them–requiring lots of napkins. Perhaps that is what Prufrock was so worried about–their messiness. Peaches are so evocative–things can be peachy, or peachy keen, a woman can have a peaches and cream complexion, and a person who is wonderful is a real peach. Maybe that’s my goal in eating them–to become a real peach. It’s good to have goals.