flaming lips

Oh no, not the band. The things on my face.

I bought a pineapple at the store earlier this week. A real pineapple, complete with thorny skin and spiny green top. I sliced it up this morning, but who knew that the acid from this baby would wreak havoc on the mucous membranes in my mouth? My lips are STILL crying uncle. Not literally, though. Because lips actually are able to cry uncle.

I tell you what--this pineapple was worth the burn. It was excessively juicy, which I love, and thoroughly sweet. The label touted that the pineapple was naturally sweet, which begs my thanks to them for not injecting syrup into the flesh before selling it to me. I suppose that is a practice for other pineapple-grower folk since they felt the need to distinguish themselves in this manner.

Anyway, after adding French bread and unsalted European butter to the menu, mine was a happy breakfast. However, I think that I will slather with chap stick in preparation for next time.