Orange Hunt

Story Sent in by Angela:

Mitch was nice bordering on doormat. He was way too agreeable and compliant to the point of insisting that he pour my water when the waiter came around to pour our waters. He wore a stupid perma-grin and laughed too much at nearly everything I said. Once or twice would've been a compliment, but even if I said something as simple as, "I walked to the post office today," he'd giggle like a psychotic schoolgirl.

Somehow or other we landed on the topic of fruits and I mentioned that I had an orange with my lunch. He said, "Oh my God, that is so interesting. What kind of orange?"

"A tasty orange." I was joking, of course. I had no idea what specific kind of orange I actually had.

He said, "I've heard of those! Aren't they from Minnesota or some climate that you think would be too cold to grow oranges?"

"Uh..."

He pulled out his phone and looked it up. I guess he couldn't find any information about "tasty" oranges, as he finally put his phone down and said, "I'll get you a whole bag of them."

I said, "You don't really have to."

"I will! After dinner, we'll go to the Acme and I'll find you some tasty oranges. Only the best for my girl!" he said with a wink.

True to his word, after dinner, he dragged me to the nearby Acme Fresh Market and searched around and around for the right oranges. He was so dead set on the quest that I hadn't the heart to tell him that "tasty" was an adjective, not an orange type. He asked me "Where did you buy that orange you had for lunch?" and I told him it was probably a different market, like the Mustard Seed Market, a local organic grocery store.

"Want to go there? We can go there. Let's go there."

"No. I'm all set. Thanks."

I said it firmly so as to really discourage him. He promised up and down to find me a bag of tasty oranges and I told him that he didn't have to. After our date, I never heard from him again. Hopefully he didn't perish in an orange-hunting accident in the far wilds.