Published by Tamara on 28 Mar 2005
My poor mother. She tried to raise us with, well, how do I say this, hippie food. We were members in a co-op. We ate whole wheat spaghetti. Carob chips. Fruit and vegatables. And, as a kid, I was a weird eater. I hated things like pizza. Who hates pizza? I did. I survived on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (organic, whole wheat bread) until I discovered that cheese was the fruit of the gods. Mmm…. cheese.
So recently, in response to the Louie, I’ve decided that I should eat breakfast. I haven’t eaten breakfast regularly since 1989. I’m not joking. Louie contends that if I ate breakfast, and stopped calling coffee with flavored creamer a ‘real meal’ that I wouldn’t be hungry by 11am. And if I’m not hungry by 11am, I won’t be cranky by 11:30am. I laughed when he first told me that breakfast was important. I laughed and laughed and laughed. Because A. of course it’s important! to the evil breakfast cereal companies and B. I barely have time to go to the bathroom in the morning much less eat breakfast. So this week is the beginning of the “Great Breakfast Experiment”.
This morning it was like I was in a horror movie when I peeled my orange. I actually gasped and dropped it. It was like I had peeled back the first layer of the devil’s child. I set it aside and toasted my toast (I still love whole wheat bread, my mom did something right I guess). And then glared at the orange. IT WAS BLOOD RED ON THE INSIDE! I held it up to my nose thinking maybe I had the tiniest grapefruit in the world. And I got only the faint, but telltale, smell of orange. I don’t know what is up with this orange, but I’m scared. So I set it down again and my toast pops totally freaking me out. Because I get jumpy around blood red fruit. I butter my toast and chew. Standing up. Because honestly, there is no place to eat in our apartment. Which is why I’m always eating in my bed. The orange, mocking me, sits half peeled on the counter. Next to the butter knife. I quickly picked up the butter knife and dropped it into the sink, because I can’t imagine what a blood red orange can do with a butter knife in its grasp. Finally, toast eaten, now ravenous (breakfast always makes me more hungry than no breakfast) I pick up the orange and finish peeling it. I took a bite from one of those tiny butt pieces. And no blood leaked out down my chin. In fact, this blood red orange was not juicy at all. It was next to tasteless. I put the rest into a baggie and sealed it up, thinking keeping it in the fridge overnight made it juiceless (shut up, I don’t understand fruit) and if I waited until I got to work it would warm up enough to get its juices flowing. I am here to tell you, I highly recommend avoiding blood red oranges. They are horrible. Scary, yes, but even worse, they are tasteless, and not juicy.
And. To top it all off. It’s 10:15am and I’m starving. Fucking breakfast.