Orange you glad I didn't say, "banana"?

Good Lord. This last Friday was the worst day ever in my teaching experience, and it really had nothing to do with education. So there are no gripes today about parents, students, or colleagues, just oranges.

I had one of those large navel oranges with my lunch. The thing is so large that I think it has violated a performance enhancing substance abuse policy. Trying to peel that thing made me feel like I was skinning an animal. Citrus blood coated my fingers as I tore its hide from its body. I wanted to dry out the rinds and then draw stick figures, shooting arrows at a buffalo, on it.

Lunch ended before I had even finished peeling it. I had no choice but to bring it back to class. I wasn't going t come that far just to quit. The trick was that I had to somehow tie it into my lesson, so fifth period experienced how "reading a book is like peeling an orange." Sadly, my tips on how to take your time, ask for help, and go back over where you had just finished to make sure you got all of it didn't seem to work.

The best reaction I got was a girl saying that she would never eat oranges again because she wouldn't be able to get the "constipated face" I was making while struggling with the thing out of her head.