23 June 2009

It's good to live alone.

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.


Emily said...

In the past few weeks, there have been two incidents in my apartment where one person came home unexpectedly and the other said "Umm . . . I'm not wearing pants."

At least we're both guilty of it.

Jess said...


When I was in Portland over the weekend, my sister and my cousin and I were talking about what we had brought for pajamas on the trip and how terribly different that is from what we'd wear at home. I was all, "If you think I wear pants to bed at home, you're dreaming. Shit. If you think I wear pants at all at home you're crazy."

Alaina said...

I love living alone for varied reasons... you've listed a couple of them. ;-)

Nice post.

Jess said...

You do the mango thing, too?!