Saturday, September 5, 2009
Last weekend Jennifer bought some fudge at Lake Compounce. It was just one large chunk. She ate, like, one bite, then brought the box home and put it on top of the microwave, so that I was sure to see it every time I walked into the kitchen.
I vowed not to eat any, because she gets annoyed over stuff like that.
But after several days of staring at it, on Wednesday I secretly sliced a little sliver off the edge and ate it, figuring she'd never notice.
Then yesterday I had another tiny sliver.
Just now I had ONE MORE sliver, and I realized that the remaining piece of fudge is about half the size it was on Wednesday.
I could probably eat the whole thing, throw the box away, and she'd never even notice.
But maybe she would.
And yet, if I never took any bites of it, it would just sit on top of the microwave for several more weeks until finally Jennifer would realize it was stale and throw it away.
I couldn't in good conscience let that happen to a perfectly edible piece of fudge. It would be like wasting joy, and there is too little joy in the world already. My job is to perpetuate joy.