This morning I was packing my bag quickly so that I could make it to school comfortably before lectures started. I grabbed a few granola bars to carry me through the evening. I also wanted to take a few satsumas with me, as well. My mother had brought a huge basket and two huge bags of satsumas from the south for my enjoyment. I had finished off the basket last night and decided to dump one of the bags into the basket for convenience. And this motion, in all of its simplicity, became one of the most infamous actions of my life.
The. Satsumas. Were. Rotten.
And not like, oh, there's some mold growing on the skin. NO. That would have been easy to take care of. These rotten satsumas were LIQUID. I'd try to pick one up and it would just collapse into moldly, liquidy juiciness in my hands. And the smell. THE SMELL. It had a citrusy kick of death. So, I decided I'd just leave it in the basket until I got home since I was low on time.
BUT NO.
I hear what I think is my kitchen faucet dribbling. So I check it and it's not leaking. And then I notice the sound is coming from the other side of my kitchen. FROM THE SATSUMA BASKET. The rotten satsumas that were liquified were seeping out of the basket and dripping, or rather, GUSHING, onto the bench of my breakfast nook and splashing on the floor. I had to quickly act and gather up as many absorbable things as I could to stop the typhoon of rotten satsuma insides from getting all over the floors.
So, waiting for me at home is a huge pile of papertowels soaked in nasty satsuma juice that not just stinks, but STANKS. Plus a garbage bag full of the satsumas that were not salvageable. Thanks, mom!
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