A jewel wedge bursts in her mouth, but only with promise. The pleasure is too slow. There’s too much skin to peel, too many bits of pith to pick at. Sticky fingers and chew, chew… chew. And always, the threat of an errand seed adding unwelcome risk to her reward. She’s so tired of fighting for tiny slices of satisfaction. The weight of this grey day, every yes for someone else, is already pulling at her ankles. If she can claim one bliss for herself, it must be absolute.
And so she strips the entire bag of Mandarin oranges, blends, and strains – saving the pulp for some fibrous muffins that we both know are never going to happen. But the intention is enough. So she gives herself full permission, fills her mouth with sweet citrus tang and swills it round till every bud is blooming in ecstasy, pure, smooth, with a joy that kicks loose the drag of the day. This is love, and the gift of a promise already kept, because there’s more than enough for tomorrow morning.