THE FIRST THING you need to know is that I dislike eating the end of anything. Heel of the loaf of bread? Yuck. Last of the peanut butter in the jar? No thanks. Final serving of the mac and cheese in the casserole? Ugh.
[Character failing or intriguing personality quirk? You, my gentle readers, are free to decide which it is.]
So this morning, half-awake, as I prepared my breakfast, I went outside my comfort zone when I decided to voluntarily eat the end of the Orange Marmalade. I like Orange Marmalade, and in the winter when it’s cold and dreary outside Orange Marmalade cheers my soul, which I believe is an admirable thing for a condiment to do.
[It makes me think of England where I went to college for a term. In the spring, when it was pretty and green outside. The opposite weather of this morning.]
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SITTING DOWN TO breakfast at the kitchen counter, with my mug of coffee and my tasty toast smeared with Orange Marmalade, I bit into what I thought would be the perfect midwinter anti-gloom breakfast.
[Oh, but was I disappointed.]
It seems that in our refrigerator we also had a jar of almost used up Apricot Jam, which just happened to be sitting beside the aforementioned Orange Marmalade. And as fate would have it, glancing casually at the orange color, I picked up the Apricot Jam, plopped the end of it onto my toast, and then took a big bite of the wrong thing.
[BLEECH! A thousand times bleech!]
And that’s how my morning started. Reminding me that my comfort zones are there for good reasons. To keep my safe, healthy– and HAPPY. Which I am not, right now.