They always say you can’t compare them.
Apples and oranges.
I don’t know who decided that.
But you’re only likely to like one.
Or that liking both means you’re indecisive.
That’s kind of dumb, right?
Apples are easy.
You wash them, bite in, that’s it.
Crunchy, clean, done.
They’re dependable.
Oranges…
They take more effort.
You have to peel them,
your fingers get sticky,
and sometimes there’s that one stringy part that just won’t come off.
But I like them.
I mean—sometimes, anyway.
There’s something about opening an orange
and getting that sudden burst of smell.
Feels a little like summer.
I used to think I was more of an apple person.
I could eat one every day back in college.
Red Delicious, usually. Even though I low-key hated how mealy they get.
But then I started eating oranges, too.
Mandarin oranges.
My wife bought a bag and left them on the table.
And I would love eating those.
Didn’t plan to. Just happened.
That’s the thing, isn’t it?
People want to make it neat.
They want to say—this or that.
One or the other.
And maybe that works for some things.
But not fruit.
Not people either.
I can like apples for what they are.
And oranges too.
Even if they’re not the same.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe you don’t always have to compare.
Maybe you just eat what you’re in the mood for.
And stop pretending your choice means something about who you are.
Or maybe I’m just overthinking fruit.
I do that sometimes.