Deny, Deny, Deny

At around this time of year a huge box containing a "bushel" of citrus fruits from Florida finds itself blocking my doorway. Usually it's accompanied by a puffing, semi-irate postman.

The post women never get irate of course.

In any case, every year I get a huge amount of oranges or grapefruits or a mixture of the two and every year I eat so many I get literally sick off them. Not sick of them but sick off them.

I always pictured that one year I would turn a strange shade of yellowy orange and bright I'm-happy-pink inside. I imagine myself bleeding grapefruit juice and crying large orange tears in the same shape as those little cell sections citrus fruit comes in. (If you don't know what I'm talking about you haven't dissected an orange down to the molecule like I have.)

Despite my daydreams of crayon skin tragedies I never once imagined that eating an orange would turn me green. Dark, pretty, forest green.

But that Rutaceae family is tricky.

I was finishing my last section of delicious Florida orange when I decided I should make the journey from the floor in the living room to the floor in the office. (Different carpet - same color.) Being the conscientious girl who listened to Smokey the Bear (and secretly coveted his hat) I got up to blow out the smelly sage candle and trot off.

The candle is perfect. It smells good but not perfumy, when it's cool it's a pretty shade of light, misty green. When all three wicks are lighted it melts into a pool of deep, dark, pretty forest green. I like to poke my nose over the rim of the glass and look at the three little flames seemingly floating in a pool of green. Having my hands full of left) orange peel and right) last section of orange I decided I would just poke my nose over a little to blow them out. To get good aim of course.

I did, it was still as pretty as I thought it would be and then I huffed.

One flame out.

I puffed.

Two flames out.

I blew the candle...sideways. The flame flickered then returned.

Aw well, just blow a little harder.

Again, it bent to the side, then stood back up and stuck it's little flamey tongue at me.

I glared, then took a bite of my orange for strength before taking a deep breath and blooooooooooooooowing!

The flame went out, unfortunately so did the wax. A big splash of hot, green wax splashed out of the candle holder and straight into my face.

At first I was scared. I thought for sure I was burned, but for some reason I didn't feel that much pain. In the time it took me to gasp in shock then sort out what happened the wax had cooled and was now keeping my face immobile. I was stuck looking scared. And I felt scared...and utterly alone. Not even the cat saw this. (And the cat would be the perfect witness because she never laughs at mommy.) The more I stood there shocked and alone the more my mind thought of really horrible things. Third degree burns, peoples faces melting off, this one time when a centipede slapped across my face and I had a line of angry red cockeyed over my whole left side. The orange in my hand started to drip and squish as my fingers fisted over it. That calmed me down enough to put the remains in the trash and head upstairs to check out the damage. I had already ruined my husbands wife, I didn't want to ruin the carpet too.

As I walked up the stairs and past my roommates bedroom I was struck by the fact that I didn't scream, I didn't even squeal. I was only shocked by this because I realized that my roommate was sleeping and had I screamed at the top of my lungs as my face was being burned off and frozen "Madame Tussaud" style he would have rolled over and gone back to sleep.

Bastard.

Upon encountering the mirror I saw what you would expect. There I was, behind a mask of wax. Half my nose was covered in a shadow of green. My cheek looked like a put-put course without the windmill. There was a few strange blobs stuck mid-flight on my chin. My glasses were mostly speckled (thank goodness I didn't have my contacts in) and my right eye looked like it had been crying true, blue (I mean green) crocodile tears.

Of all the colors I had ever pictured my skin in, of all the strange things I imagined would happen to my face, never did I think I'd be staring at it covered in wax sage.

It was even freakier to have to not wipe, but scrape and chisel it off my face. Lucky it did come off and there are only a few angry red spots that I'm sure will go away soon.

What, you may ask, does any of this have to do with my bushel of christmas oranges? Other than the fact I pulverized one in my fit of girly panic?

Well you don't think I blew hot wax into my face all by myself do you? No! Of course not...it was the oranges fault. Honestly...those thing ought to come with a warning!