By Jim Hagarty
My dietitian is a dreamer which is good because the world needs more dreamers. She wants me to give up frozen orange juice and eat real oranges instead. Something about fibre. She hasn’t used the words but others in her profession have referred to orange juice as “yellow pop” which, to me, is offensive. But my dietitian seems so earnest about these things and believes everything she says. Who am I to argue?
This morning, I took out the orange juice, then put the container back into the fridge and picked up a real, live orange instead. It took quite an effort to peel the giant sucker, with its skin as tough as a rhino’s, but with the help of a spoon I finally got the job done. But even with the outside layer gone, there was another white subskin that clung to the fruit like a leach to a pond swimmer. I tried to remove it but gave up.
I broke the monstrous thing up into sections and started eating them. Man were they tough to gobble up and choke down. By the time I finished, I was a mess. Covered in juice from chin to shin. I rushed to the kitchen sink and got myself cleaned up.
I have bad news for my dietitian. This was the worst-tasting orange I have ever eaten. I doubt the experience will be repeated soon.
About then, a family member began asking around to find out what happened to the grapefruit that had been near the toaster.
I feel sorry for my dietitian. She earns every penny she makes. I recommend she be given a raise, in fact. She has to deal with some very confused individuals.