A dear friend of mine called on his last day of really working (or so he says). "My crazy neighbor picked all her lemons. I have a huge bag and I will meet you on the mall at 11:00." It sounded like a drug transaction, but my tree was too busy growing this year to give me the abundance of Meyers that I am used to, so I met him as arranged.
We popped into Ambrosia for a quick cuppa before he raced off to catch is bus back home and discussed the general state of confusion at our (now my) collective work places. I told him that I would have something wonderful for him next week, maybe lemon pasta or candied lemon peel, or maybe just a lovely lemon cake soaked in lemoncello.
He fled for the bus and I toted my bag home on the train. "I like your perfume", the man who sat next to me said. I smiled. Why buy Michael Kors when you can smell like an orchard?
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