I’m not proud of myself. Not by any means. But when I got to Market Basket about 1 pm and searched for the reduced produce cart, where a man and his adolescent daughter were touching this and that but NOT the packages of figs I was so heartened to find, I was as crazed a woman one would find at a Filene’s basement girdle sale. I began grabbing trays of four, and kept seeing more and more, not just two I first spied. I loaded eight square trays into my cart, surely breaking the speed record, I’m certain. Meanwhile, the man and his daughter had moved away, then returned and he said, “You took all the figs,” with a teensy weensy playful whine. I was nailed. Of course I offered him some.
“No, you take them, they look mushy anyway. I was thinking of getting some that weren’t.”
“These are ripe,” I said, still offering. After four offers, I simply put one in his basket. “I can’t stand the guilt,” I said, also playfully, but truthfully, and rolled the cart away.
And don’t you know I heard my parents’ voices, “You have to SHARE! You can’t be greedy.”
Oh, honey, yes I can. Even as I say my mea culpas and shudder at my behavior, I eat my figs, two at a time, now 24 left.