Calls were flying in like bats through a window at a mosquito family reunion. It was just my luck that someone had forgotten to smack me with two fistfuls of citronella aftershave. It was that kind of day.
The phone beeped. “Uh-huh,” I muttered into the Bluetooth rotary receiver strapped to the side of my head. It was Raquel. “I’ve got a job for you,” she whispered. “I’m listening,” I said coyly. “And I’m doing it hands-free.” “What are you doing with your hands?” she said, slightly distracted. “I’m sculpting,” I replied. “In what medium?” she asked. She always asked that. “Intwine,” I said. “It’s a sculpture of hands sculpting hands.” That would keep her busy for a while.
But today was different. She was on a mission. “I’m on top of Mission Dolores,” she said, “trying to get the best cell reception, and I saw something—a double rainbow of satsumas flying across the sky. It’s full on, and I don’t know what it means.” “I’m on my way.” I slammed the Bluetooth receiver back onto the cradle and knocked myself out. Remind me to remind myself to remove the headset from my ear before returning it to a resting position. When I came to, satsumas were shooting out the windows of the office above mine. I ran upstairs and found the joker who had rerouted the pneumatic mail system and was air-cannoning citrus across the city. He had a surprised look on his face. “These satsumas are bad,” he said. “Look—the skin is soft and bumpy.”
I sighed. “Buddy, these satsumas are perfectly perfect. The skin is meant to be bumpy and soft and have a light, airy feeling. Don’t ever throw away good satsumas just because you think they have a bad wrap.” “Wrapper, you mean,” he said. “If you insist,” I replied. “I’m more of a detective than a rapper, but I’ll give it a go—sa-sa-satsuma”¦.”
Remember—the skin of the satsuma is supposed to be soft, pliable, and “airy.” Peel it by sticking your thumb in the bottom of the fruit and zipping the skin off. It’s a great piece of winter fruit.
Enjoy & Be Fruitful!
—Chris Mittelstaedt email@example.com