The idea for this post actually came to me a couple of weeks ago, as I was standing in my kitchen, juice dripping down my chin, over the decimated corpse of a mango.
I loves me some mango, y'all. They seem so decadent. I'm not entirely sure why. They're delicious, for sure. They're also a little expensive. They're kind of the epitome of a tropical fruit. Whenever I eat them, it kind of feels like a special occasion to me.
Because I love them so much, I'm very intent on getting every last morsel of flesh; every last drop of juice. When I'm finished cutting them up for whatever reason (most recently it was for a two bean and mango salad -- delicious!), I go to work on the remains. There is always some sweet, yielding flesh left attached to the skin. And you can't possibly get everything off of that tough, fibrous seed. So I will scrape away at the skin to get every last bit. Then I turn my attention to the seed, gnawing and sucking until I can't get anything else.
Let me tell y'all something: this is not a pretty sight. In addition to the juice dripping down my face, I end up with the spaces between my teeth jammed with bits of tough fiber from around the seed. But it doesn't matter, because I live alone.
There are all the other standard reasons I enjoy living alone -- I can come and go as I please, stay up as late as I want, don't have to worry about other people's messes, I can make noise when I get up in the morning ...
Tonight, however, I was reminded of another not-so-standard reason. I had some spinach from my mom's garden and crimini mushrooms that I desperately needed to use. I'd found a recipe for a baked pasta dish using the spinach, so I decided to make that. Excellent idea on a hot-as-balls day. I was not only using the stove, but I had to bake it for 45 minutes after that.
No huge deal, though. I'd be doing it after the gym when I'd be all sweaty anyway. However, by the time I got to the dishes, I just couldn't take it any longer. My air conditioner was likely working overtime and the ceiling fan wasn't pushing enough air into the kitchen. So, I just whipped off my shirt and cleaned up shirtless. Klassy!
And at least I waited until I was done cooking before I took my shirt off. Then again, I wasn't cooking bacon, so I probably would have been okay.