Knock, knock

Who's there?
Mango.
Mango who?
Man, go get your own.  This one's mine!


Can you believe I just made up that incredibly witty joke?  I know, I'm a comedic genius.  The reason for this display of my mad improv joke skillz is so that I may segue into this little update:

While in Africa, after 23 years of fruit-related ignorance, I took my first bite of a mango.  I know, right, this is ground-breaking news.  But seriously, where has this fruit been hiding?  Why aren't more people singing the praises of the mango?  It's not stringy, like a peach.  It's not overflowing with juice, like oranges usually do.  It's sweet enough to be a dessert, but it's not too acidic, like pineapples can be.  Bottom line: it's awesome.  Seriously, run, do not walk, to your nearest Whole Foods (or Acme, for those lacking in funds like myself) and grab yourself a mango.  DO IT!

On an entirely separate (and, though it's hard to believe after that mango story, even more pathetic) note, I would also like to share a little vignette from my life:

I was feeling sorta blue yesterday, having returned to my empty apartment, knowing that I had to once again be the responsible adult and take care of bills and show up to work and do a million other things that are on my to-do list.  So, I decided to call my boyfriend and tell him my tale of woe so that he may give me comforting reassurance that everything will be ok.  (By the way, this never works on me.  Don't tell me that everything will be ok.  What are you, God?  You can't guarantee that things will work out.  There is always room for something to go wrong.)  So I'm in the middle of my tearful list of complaints when I walk into my dining room and see a bee buzzing around the ceiling.  Well, this just takes the cake.  I immediately flip out and start half screaming and half sobbing in the phone, yelling at my boyfriend "THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.  THERE'S NO ONE ELSE HERE TO KILL THIS BEE.  I AM ALL ALONE AND I ALWAYS HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO TAKE CARE OF THINGS.  IT'S NOT FAIR.  I WANT SOMEONE ELSE TO BE HERE TO KILL THE BEE.  WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?"  I know, right?  I'm certifiable.  I'm literally cowering in a corner of my apartment, soaking my cellphone with tears of outrage and misery, because I have managed to heap all of my psychosis and neurosis onto this little buzzing insect.  Ridiculous.

Oh, you're waiting for the moral to the story?  The big climactic scene where I heroically slay the bee with one of my flipflops?  Yeah, that would have been good.  What actually happened was that I barricaded myself into my bedroom, stuffed a towel into the crack under the door, and proceeded to wait until the bee died of starvation.  Talk about avoidance issues, huh?  But that's ok.  About an hour after the traumatic bee incident, my boyfriend sent me the following text message:

When we're married, I'll kill the bees 

My knight in shining armor.