Monday, December 6, 2010
I imagined a nubile island woman, a flower tucked behind her ear, climbing a tree to pick plump pomelos, her dark hair dancing around her head in the wind, she bites her bottom lip and tears her fishnet stockings to gather the stolen fruit together to....
Sorry. Uh, sidetracked (into a Jude Deveraux novel apparently).
Ahem. Like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But typical of a variety of temptations, this tastebud adventure did not meet expectations. In other words, this honey pomelo was more crusty and acidic than my Aunt Donilda.