It was Halloween 2011.
I had purchased an orange the night before at the local produce market. I had so much hope; it had so much hope. I have craved the fruit for some time now and I couldn’t wait to eat it. The thought of it made my mouth water…
The peel was tough to take off. A bit ridiculous really — I was already frustrated. So then I bit into it, straight into the skin. It was bitter tasting and my lip started to sting. Disappointment came over me.
I then noticed a dark brown spot near the top. It was old. I had chosen an old orange. It gave me a reason to toss the whole damn thing in the trash and waste it, I did. For me, it was like I was punishing the orange. I had this grudge against the fruit. I was mad and sticky. My lips still stung, the bitterness of the peel wouldn’t go away, but yet as I threw it away, those terrible things didn’t go with it. I decided to take it to the next level of spite.
I would never have an orange again! I proclaimed. I was done with all oranges Excluding clementines. Of course.
This orange left me with nothing more than an acidic stomach, sore lips and sticky fingers. What good does that do? It’s supposed to give you vitamins and nutrition. Help keep you from getting sick — well no wonder no one is eating these things. They are a pain in the ass.
Now it sits on the top of my trash can. One bite taken from it. This is the orange the ruined all oranges for me. It looks good. It sounds good. But it’s never what you expect. The orange resembles a relationship in many ways.