As you probably know, “crunchy,” apart from being Templeton the rat’s suggestion for what Charlotte should spin in her web to keep poor Wilbur the pig from certain slaughter, is a term used to describe the extent to which individuals have bought into one or more tenets of the natural movement. I think crunchiness is related to the term “granola” which is a synonym for crunchiness in this sense.
I find myself becoming more granola as I get older. If you knew me during my younger years, that might surprise you, as I spent most of college cultivating glamour and sparkle and general luminousity. Still, for a variety of reasons, I now find myself on what I formerly considered to be the wrong side of weird regarding issues like natural childbirth, cloth diapering, wishing we could afford free range meat and organic vegetables, and the like. Lest you think I’ve gone totally off the deep end, I assure you that I still wear twinsets and pearls and I don’t own Birkenstocks or tie-dyed items.
That said, my tendency towards the granola life does make me appreciate my long-suffering husband more than ever. While I tend to jump on every granola bandwagon that passes by, Josh is more deliberate, and wisely, but sensitively, counsels me on moderation. “Honey,” he says again patiently, “I’d really like for us to be healthy, but lets remember that it’s sometimes okay to be NORMAL.” He’s a good man.