Arianna

Noticed at 8:25pm

I get back to the apartment, shed my winter gear, heavy backpack, and crash on the university-grade sofa. Today was draining, and I'm ready for something to eat. I walk in the kitchen, eyes half-open in drowsiness, and walk straight forward. I get a sudden flash of genius: mango smoothie.

I grab the squishy, overripe mango from it's resting place, a knife from the drawer and a cutting board. The mango's green skin only takes up half of the fruit; the other side is a bright red, and in the middle is a strange mix of the two. I score it along the sides with the knife into quarters, and it's so juicy that some of the liquid runs down the knife, down my hand and onto the board. The scent is released as well, and I take a deep breath of it in.

Peeling the skin back proves to be more difficult than last time, and while the sound is good (a solid "rrrrriiiiipp"), the strips are short and choppy, leaving behind green triangles on the bright yellow flesh.

I pull out my food processor, cut off some chunks of fruit and estimate the amount to put in. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, ... 6? Yeah 6. I pour in a splash, no two, of milk, snap everything into place (loudly), and hit chop. The mango is immediately shredded and the entire counter begins to shake as it gets finer and finer. I stop at an arbitrary time to view the results; the mush comes to a stop and I'm surprised by the little chunks stuck to the side of the bowl. I add a little milk, hit chop again (and once more just for good measure), and pour it in a glass. Yes, tastes good, but not quite as good as the pure mango. I add a little sugar, and drink up, seriously ignoring the tapoioca-like grit that gets left behind on my tongue and in my teeth.

Not so genius.