Don't ever leave a container of orange juice -- even for a second -- on the top of the porch railing while you fumble with your keys and other bags of groceries in attempt to get inside the door.
Why? Because right as you're thinking, "Hmm ... that might not be the best spot for that." Right then? Right at that moment? It will come crashing down at your feet, spurt open in all directions and cover your sneakers and pants and coat the porch in a sticky river of orange.
Then your husband will open the door, baby and dog in tow, to look at the scene with such utter disbelief that the only thing that could possibly come out of your mouth is "Fuck." Then you slump your shoulders in defeat and resign yourself to the mess you're going to have to clean up as you track all of it inside, one sloppy shoe print at a time, as you make your way to the kitchen.
And, of course, the only thing you wanted in the entire car full of groceries was a big glass of orange juice. Because of that, you had purchased the largest and most expensive swimming pool-sized container of the stuff. You wanted it so badly that you briefly consider placing your mouth under the spot where it's dripping off the porch and flowing down each step and onto the sidewalk.
Instead, your husband springs into action and starts sweeping the mess with your gigantic outdoor push broom. The liquid flows into the snow and the entire scene looks like a giant wild animal had diarrhea all over your front walkway. Awesome.
To help, you fill a pitcher with water and start dousing the porch as fast as you can fill and empty it without accidentally letting the dog escape. Because, of course, he is very interested in the commotion, as well as the delicious aroma that is wafting inside.
But then your husband yells at you for "making a sheet of ice." That's his thing these days. "A sheet of ice." Everything is a sheet of ice -- the roads, the car windshields, the back walkway. You want to remind him that the temperature is well above freezing and the weather forecast predicts it to stay that way, but instead, you just mentally imagine pouring the water over his head and that's revenge enough.
In your mind, the only positive thing about the entire situation is the fact that it's cold outside. If the calender pages had been flipped over a few more times, every bug in North America would be attached to your porch in a disgusting clump of juice and legs.
Thankfully, the juice stopped pulsing out after it leaked below the spot the container cracked open, so there was enough to salvage a glass.
It was easily the tastiest few gulps of orange juice ever, but not delicious enough to make up for the fact that dozens of oranges had to die in vain because of your carelessness.
Oranges deserve better.