At the local grocery store, gazing at a piece of fruit.  The sign says “orangello $.29.”  Orangello?  I begin to question my upbringing…. were we the weird kind of family that said “please, have a seat on the davenport”?  Or “Let’s take a ride in my automobile.”?  Or maybe tangello was a pet name, like some families call spaghetti “pasghetti.’  I ask the cashier who responded “orangelllos”  in a “you’re a moron, but I’ll try to hide my derision and take pity on your ignorance” kind of voice. “No, they are tangellos” I insisted. The teenager, barely supressing a flagrant eye-roll , replies:  “they aren’t tan.”



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