Oh my darling, clementine.
This is a how-to post about the process of eating a bag of baby oranges.
So here you go.
How to Eat a Bag of Baby Oranges
Step One: (in the grocery store) Stare at all the bags of baby oranges out there. Don't just blindly grab for the nearest bag, and don't just take the bag that you spotted one attractive orange in. You have to spend time with each bag, make sure you feel comfortable with the relationship you're getting yourself into. Because you might feel like you like a few qualities about the one bag, but if you shift around the surface oranges, the blemished innards will come up and you'll be stuck in with a half-spoiled pound of baby oranges and I'll bet the whole thing ends in tears.
Step Two: (at home) Wash the oranges, I guess. I probably wouldn't, but you can let your mom take care of that step because she worries about your health. At least, that's how we do it around here.
Step Three: Put the oranges in the refrigerator. Because everybody knows that cold fruit is just better.
Step Three-Point-Five: (before you eat) This step is a miniature how-to, because I don't want you to do it wrong. How to Peel: You have to start on the side of the orange that wasn't attached to the tree. Like, not the belly-button of the fruit. Stick a fingernail in, but if you go too far and puncture any of the actual fruity part, might as well give up and throw the whole thing away. Then you have to carefully remove the peel, and hopefully in one big piece if you can manage it. If you do get it in one, enjoy a short celebration. Next, get rid of all the white junk. And that thing that's in the middle of the orange. And the nubby things on both ends. Inspect your work and go back if you need to. Peel into sections one by one. And that's it.
Step Four: (the first few oranges) Be overly selective. If the orange is slightly misshapen, discolored, or spotted: put it back. Pick only the best orange to eat because you can.
Step Five: (half the bag is gone) Now that all the perfect baby oranges have been eaten, you're kind of like, "Hey, this is sort of flat on one side, no biggie."
Step Six: (the last few, and they're ugly) There are three baby oranges left and you've written it on the shopping list, but you're not going to the store for at least two days. Panic aside, you're going to eat whatever misshapen, dirty, bruised vaguely orange-shaped item that someone places in front of you. You tell yourself that you like it shriveled up like that. You say, "A little bit of green on the outside is good for you." You eat the suspicious orange-thing. It's fine.
Step Seven: Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
And the days were getting shorter, once again.