"You can cook lots of different things with mangos." She said, her drawl dragging out with each vowel.
"Mango tartlets, mango jelly, mango snack cake, even mango drinks." She sounded so innocent.
"Mangos are my favorite fruit, especially when they're at that perfect point of ripeness where they're not too firm, and not to squishy." She spoke like a grade schooler, with a shy, squirrelly voice.
"The color of mangos is just beautiful too, I have mango colored shoes." She explained. "They're flat shoes and the toe is rounded, on the back of the heel there are golden studs." I wasn't paying attention to what she was saying anymore.
"I like to use the side of a cup to kind of scrape the mango out of its peel, that way you don't mess up the mango's shape." Why should I care ? I don't even like mangos.
"I used to go to the farmers market every week with my grandpa to buy fresh mangos." She said, reminiscing.
"I remember when they told me he was sick, I thought about the mangos. I thought about all the treats he taught me to make with mangos. I thought about how he would never be around to go to the famers market and get fresh mangos with me. I thought about how lonely I would be now. Without him, without the mangos." I was listening now.
