A guest post by my sister, Charlotte Stapp, on her birthday.
When I was smaller, one of my favorite snacks was an orange. The thing is, I would never think of it myself. Dad would bring an orange downstairs for himself, and start peeling it and pulling it apart in perfectly neat sections. This always amazed me.
About halfway through this process, he would look up and notice a wide-eyed little girl staring eagerly at the orange in his hands. He never failed to ask if I wanted one, which of course, I did. He would give me the one he was working on, and then get himself another one.
Nostalgia aside, I still really like oranges. The problem is that I completely fail at peeling them and pulling them apart neatly the way my dad did, and the way I liked them to be. I've tried it just using my hands. I've tried it using a knife, but I always end up ripping into it like a savage desperate for citrus-y goodness. Behold, my shredded snack, two days in a row:
"On a related note, I just peeled an orange and got juice all over my dry clean only shirt."