Oranges, My Nemesis.

I hate oranges.  Hate them with a white hot passion.  I hate the smell.  I hate the taste.  I hate the zest.  I hate the juice.  Oranges are evil, pure unadulterated evil.  When I had a desk job, my boss loved to eat oranges every day.  She would peel and peel, slowly making me more woozy as that stench wafted from her office to mine. 

The trail to my orange hate was paved by my mother.  I didn't always hate them.  Hell, when I was a kid I pretended to be sick so I could munch on St. Joseph's Aspirin for kids.... those chalky orange flavored chewable tablets.  *shudder*

But then real sickness came upon me.  Nothing serious, but back in the 70's if you were a high strung kid they didn't really know what to call it or do for you other than to say, "snap the fuck out of it!"  Somehow, my mom was able to get some kind of vile tasting medicine for me from the doctor.  I have no clue what it was for, I was just a kid who was scared of my own shadow and meek as a kitten (um yeah, I grew out of it, obviously).  All I know is it tasted like shit.  So my mom, thinking she was masking the horrid flavor of the medicine, started to hide it in my morning juice.  That was probably the worst idea ever.  It went on and on, daily I had to swallow that dreck for what could have been weeks, months or years for all I remember now.  It absolutely ruined me for ever drinking orange juice again.  I've tried, and whenever I do I'm taken right back to my childhood and that mediciney taste.

So keep your fucking Dreamsicles to yourself.  I don't want any vile Orange Cream Pop Tarts.  No thanks on the punch with globs of horror (orange sherbet) floating in it.  And keep your fucking orange out of my chocolate!