In which The Gay Recluse writes about the Democratic primaries in highly attenuated metaphors.

Regular readers of The Gay Recluse know that we have reported on the fierce and unsettled debate over which Clementine — the Sweetie® from Mulholland Citrus or Cuties® from Sun Pacific — provides the most delightful and refreshing citrus “experience.” Initially we weighed in on the side of the Sweetie but were subsequently thrown into a crisis when we were presented with a shipment of Clementines that were not only bruised and misshapen, but dry and fibrous, virtually impossible to eat; although we suspected that these were Cuties, it was impossible to confirm given that the fruit — to the extent we can use a word to describe such abominations — had arrived in a generic mesh bag.

Given all of this, you can imagine our relief when several days ago we received a new box clearly marked with the California Sweetie label, the very one we have come to identify with the most delightfully sweet and juicy Clementine. We immediately peeled one, separated it into segments and began to eat; despite our high expectations we were not disappointed; we found that each piece possessed a perfectly zesty flavor and fragrance that made it impossible to stop at just one. How we exalted at such consistently seedless masterpieces! What blissful affirmation as we considered our initial judgment!

We brought two Sweetie Clementines to work the next day and spent the entire morning anticipating the joy they would bring us at lunch; nothing could derail our high-spirited contemplation and the hours of work passed in seconds. We literally could not have been happier as we finished our sandwich and turned our attention to the fruit, which rested so peacefully on top of our desk. We picked one up and admired the depth of its orange tone, which vibrated against the bland tedium that so often hovers like a stagnant air pocket in any work environment.

As we began to peel, however, we found that the rind was adhering to the fruit and could not be removed without rupturing the delicate membrane of the segments inside, so that within seconds, the fruit was not only pulverized, but dripping all over our fingers and — most disturbingly — onto the desk itself. After finally managing to remove the bulk of the rind, we were forced to most unceremoniously shove the entire fruit into our mouth, which effectively destroyed the experience for us. It wasn’t that the Sweetie lacked in sweetness or — obviously — juiciness, but we suddenly realized that we would have traded these attributes (or some portion thereof) for a more pragmatic Clementine; namely one possessing the “zipper-skin” peel we have come to associate with Cuties!

So for the moment we remain resigned to indecision; obviously Sweeties are the superior fruit at home, while Cuties are a better choice for work. How we loathe society, for forcing us to choose just one Clementine! We wonder why even the smallest choices have to be laden with such doubts, and why any sense of achievement — much less perfection — is always so fleeting, tarnished by the mere passage of time.