Don’t tell my family.
I ate the first strawberry of the season!
It was delicious!
I’m usually quite generous with my garden produce—everyone gets a fair share of the goodies. But when it comes to the first strawberry of the year, I turn selfish.
I always get the first strawberry.
I get it, because I plant, and weed, and water, and weed again. Because in two weeks, I’ll be spending an hour a day just picking berries, then countless hours processing them into jam and other yummy treats for everyone to enjoy.
It’s my sweet reward for a year of work.
The secret will out in a day or two. When I come in with three berries, and give one to everyone else in the family, saving none for myself, they’ll know. They’ll know I ate the first one already.
But by then it won’t matter. I will have gotten the first one.