Mango Mania

I stole something from my neighbor today, and I don't even feel guilty. That's because I'm intoxicated with a seasonal sickness.

That sniffing sound you hear is me inhaling the scent of my first ripe mango of the season. Yeah, yeah ... technically it isn't mine. It dropped from a neighbor's tree. Usually, I confine myself to picking up fruit that falls in the public swale, the grassy strip of land near the street. But this was the FIRST mango, and no one was home. My husband kept watch while I crept past the neighbor's front windows to pluck that mango like gold treasure from beneath a hibiscus bush.

Probably they wouldn't have even seen it there. Leave a mango on the ground too long and it will be devoured by squirrels, iguanas, even rats. It would be almost criminal to let the season's first mango be gnawed by rodents. At least that's what I told myself.

Right now, I'm savoring my ill-gotten mango, heightening the expectation. I'll put it in the refrigerator to chill . . . soon. First I want to touch it, smell it, admire its colors of pink and gold and orange with just the slightest cast of green.

Mango mania .... Hits about this time every year.