Specify "Cutie"

Tis the season. Not for New Year's resolutions or for the start up of American Idol. No no. Tis the season for Cuties. Ya know, those little Clementine oranges that are genetically manufactured to perfection so that they contain no seeds and have an easy peel. Yes, Cuties are a household staple in the Friegel residence (no, that's not our last name, but it's the equivalent to what our last names would be if we were a celebrity couple talked about in gossip mags a la TomKitten or Brangelina, etc.).

We watch these little boxes of goodness at the Ralphs across the street like a stalker reads my blog (or not. I don't think anyone really reads this). We watch them for price first -- we can't bear to pay $10 a box. And then we watch them for quality. Must not be too hard, but must not be too lumpy and soft. There is a juuuuust right for which Cuties aficionados have a knack. Yeah, we got it.

Nothing is more fun that couching it in front of the TV and peeling those little mounds of juicy citrus flavor ever so perfectly, stringing away the white stuff and making sure all outside parts are strategically removed so as not to puncture the fragile fruit. B and I are never happier than the times we are accompanied by a box of Cuties.



As I was doing my nightly routine of catching up on Knot posts, B came running in the room and said with his hands high to gesture a list, "Here's what I love most in life: You , Cuties ...big pause... andeverythingelse!"

It was very cutie of him. I mean, cute.