I looked down sheepishly because somewhere along the line I was taught that treating myself well was unnecessarily luxurious. Deprivation was selfless and discomfort gave you a higher moral ground on which to stand.
I could point fingers, but that’s not the point. And really, I think it’s a combination of factors. Ahem, society’s expectations of mothers.
“I guess I just feel like my perfume is for nice occasions and we’re just going to get your tire fixed. I don’t really need it,” I replied, already seeing the holes in my response.
“Do you like wearing it? Does it make you feel good?” I nodded. “Well, then, Mom, you should wear it every day. It doesn’t matter where you’re going.”
I’m so glad I’m raising someone smarter than me.
I have a tendency to save good things, and not in the way that ends in a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow or a sick collection of rare postage stamps. Instead, in a way where nice things need to be collected and saved instead of enjoyed.
I’m learning.
For my 21st birthday my gift-giving extraordinaire sister gave me a bottle of champagne. Instead of opening it to celebrate this momentous milestone, I saved it. I’d look at it first on the counter of the kitchen and think, “nope, not yet.” It lived in the fridge for a while. I’d see it and say to myself, “we’ll wait for something special.”
I toted it home with me from Florida to Ohio, wrapped in folded over layers of a patchwork college comforter. After spending months in Ohio, propped up on a bookshelf, I finally saw an occasion fit for such an extravagance. New Years ... on a party bus.
It would make such a festive contribution. I gathered up the finest plastic champagne flutes and boarded the bus with plasticware and champagne tucked under each arm.
When it came time to open the bottle, halfway to Cincinnati and Britney blaring on the radio, we all screamed in anticipation. The cork came out followed by the saddest little drip. No fizz or pop, just a wet kerplunk as the cork fell to the carpeted bus floor.
The $60 bottle of champagne (by far the most expensive bottle of anything I’d ever had) had gone flat and the faint scent of vinegar perfumed the van. I’d exceeded the recommended wait time for a non vintage bottle by about two years.
I’m learning.
I save berries that look like they were grown to adorn the top of a fancy fruit tart until they’re dark and bruised in places and only suitable in smoothies.
I’m learning.
I save avocados that are perfectly ripe, thinking I can’t possibly waste two dollars in one meal. And just for me? They soften and become stringy and because I can’t abide waste, I eat them smashed on toast.
I’m learning.
My kids often gift me dark chocolate with their hard-saved money. It’s just too nice. I can’t eat it whenever. By the time I unwrap it, it’s dried out and greyed along the corners.
While I’m still learning, I want you to know: do it now. Spray the perfume on your way to get your oil changed. Drink the champagne on a Tuesday night while you watch Heated Rivalry in your striped pajama bottoms. Eat the berries out of the carton on your lap, on the way home from the grocery store. Use the most vibrantly green avocados for your toast, mash them gently and be generous with the fancy salt.
Do you like it? Does it make you feel good?
Then do it now. There’s no reason not to.
”But First, Food” columnist Whitney Kling is a recipe developer who lives in southwest Ohio with her four kids and a cat. She is also the owner of Fête in The Silos in downtown Dayton.
TUESDAY MORNING FRESH BERRY TOAST
2 pieces bread, toasted
1/2 cup Greek yogurt, I recommend full fat
1 tbsp. honey
1/2 cup of the most beautiful berries you can find
Chia seeds (optional)
Place your toast on a plate. Mix the Greek yogurt and honey together. Top your toast with the yogurt mixture. Top the yogurt with the berries. Add chia seeds and an extra drizzle of honey.
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