polishing apples

A dear friend came for lunch yesterday.

We were chatting in the kitchen when she glanced over and asked, 'Did you polish your apples?'
We both burst into giggles.

Because yes, late the previous evening on my way to bed, after I'd let the dogs out and turned off lights and set the dishwasher running, I'd stood in my kitchen with cold toes and grainy eyeballs, and polished my apples.
Because that's the kind of housewife I am.
NOT.

I polished my apples because having them shiny has made me happy every time I've looked at them since. I polished my apples to carve out a small corner of beauty and perfection in a kitchen which is totally not that in any other way.
I chose to spend 3 minutes polishing my apples because it was worth it. For me.

If time is a luxury, then spending my time in the manner in which I alone choose to is the greatest luxury I can have.
My friend totally got that, husband rolled his eyes at us from the sink, a child ran in and grabbed an apple. The fruit bowl twinkled.
For a moment all was right with the world.