I've Been Poisoned

Last Sunday night I went to an Asian food market with my friend, Elizabeth. It was incredible, like stepping off the streets of Naperville, Illinois into a store in Guangzhou, China. I'm not sure where the store is based; maybe Korea? The characters aren't Chinese, anyway. This store sells everything from rice steamers to the plastic lunch boxes we bought in China to pig's ears to fresh seafood to produce from around the globe. And to top it all off, it smells like a Chinese grocery store. It's a strange mix of odors that I can't really describe. You just have to experience it.

Among other things, Elizabeth and I bought a box of mangoes to share. Mangoes are a new love of mine, acquired during my time in southeast Asia. I was as happy as a little clam with my four mangoes, and the next morning I promptly cut into one. In China I was taught to eat a mango like this:

Slice the fruit in half, slightly off-center to avoid the large, flat pit. Use a knife to cut a cross-hatched pattern across the fruit; just just down to the peel, but not through. Holding on to the edge of the peel, push the fruit inside out, so that the squares of mango flesh stick out. Eat them off the peel.

This worked quite well in GZ. A bit messy, but very effective. I thoroughly enjoyed my half a mango.

And then the next morning I awoke to find my lips red, swollen, and sore. I had been mango-poisoned. Dang. Who knew?!? So I've been on the internet, checking out this phenomenon. It seems to be relatively common. Turns out that the skin of a mango contains an oil that's related to poison ivy. Perfect. So I've been taking antihistamines and trying to pretend that I'm a movie star who paid big money to make my lips look like this.

My roommate, Sasha, tried to convince me that it isn't noticeable. Perhaps not. We do tend to think of our own appearances more than anyone else as a general rule.

Sigh.

Stupid mangoes.