Oranges kind of are the only fruit
About this time every year, I get a real thing for oranges. Call it the legacy of growing up in a band-fruit town. I exercised my auntly duty and bought fruit from the nephews, who are now both in band, meaning I purchased two count ’em two boxes of fruit. I’ve got a box of amazingly slick-skinned navel oranges in the kitchen. And a box of pink grapefruit in the car. I don’t even like…
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