I Killed a Cutie

I did it. I killed a Cutie. Not premeditated, but murder nonetheless.

Today I drove a carpool for my son's high school choir as they performed at elementary schools and assisted living facilities. Since it was supposed to be an all-day event, I packed a lunch - a sandwich, diet cola - and a Cutie orange. Little did the Cutie know, but it was doomed.

I spent the day listening to the kids delight young and old with a cappella Christmas carols. Well, they delighted everyone except one sweet elderly gentleman with hearing aid issues. He kept yelling, "I can't hear you!"

Speaking of volume, he should have been in my car with five musical teen girls and one slightly befuddled teen boy. Four of the girls were sopranos. Are you getting the picture?

All of this to set the stage for murder most foul.

After dropping the kids off at the high school, I drove home and unloaded the back of my Highlander. My lunchbag had spilled, so I picked up the contents. All but our unsuspecting victim.

I closed the garage door only to see the Cutie, which had rolled out of the back of my car, directly in the path of the door. Did I push the button again to stay the execution? Did I rush to rescue the poor citrus? No, I did not. In morbid fascination, I watched the door descend like a guillotine. Would the fruit trigger the stop mechanism? Would the rubber gasket bend around it?

Nope. Orange guts all over my driveway.

So lock me up. Call People for the Ethical Treatment of Citrus. Post incriminating comments on my blog.

Stop me before I murder again.

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