An Honest Peel

Leaving a tiny adhesive barcode plastered across an honest apple is the height of supermarket insolence. People seem to think synthetic glue counts as breakfast fiber. I marched across the maple butcher block, planted my sneakers against the edge of the ceramic bowl, and braced the fruit with both elbows. It took a persistent flick of my thumbnail under the waxy edge before the stubborn corner finally gave way. With one decisive pull, the paper sticker peeled clean off without bruising the skin. I stuck the little scrap flat against the cutting board rim, well away from anyone's teeth. An honest piece of fruit deserves to be eaten, not read.