Take Friday. I had an orange on my desk that Josh felt compelled to throw about when he stopped by to visit. Every time. For the three days it had been sitting there. Friday he decided to use it to play handball--which didn't go so well. We chatted about its relative squishiness--and that's when I had the idea. "We should make orange juice!" I said.
We took the poor abused orange to the kitchen. Where Josh insisted that he could squeeze it until the skin burst and get orange juice that way. So he squeezed.
It was a mighty effort. Can you see the strain? Note the bi-colored flesh of squeezing. Take heed of the blur from his shaking muscles.
Unfortunately, the orange did not yield.
At least, it didn't burst. It merely absorbed the power--and the shape of Josh's fingers.
I was able to persuade him to let me slice the brave fruit in half. "We can use your strength as a juicer," I said.
Strength it took, as you can tell.
Squeeze, Josh, squeeze!!!
That may be my favorite picture ever. And every time I look at it, I start laughing again.
Please, take a closer look at his face, especially his eyes. Where are you looking, Josh?! Left eye, me; right eye, way off yonder.
In the end, we got about four tablespoons of orange juice. I added more water and ended up with a surprisingly refreshing drink.
Experiment: success!! Amusement: if the hysterical laughter throughout the process was any indication, also success!!
I wonder what else I could bring in for juicing...?
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