All day long, I’ve been running to peek out the front door in the hope of seeing the UPS truck roll up and deliver my juicer. Lunchtime came and went. Dinnertime came and went. By 7:30 p.m., I figured the driver must not have seen the box.

Then suddenly, it was here.

Did I mention that I went on a produce shopping spree this morning in anticipation of my juicer’s arrival? No? Well, probably because I’m still getting over the shame of being “that woman” with two — yes, two — grocery carts at the Army Commissary, one full of produce and the other half-filled with the stuff my husband and son insist on eating. But not me.

I’ve got a juicer and a cookbook on eating raw foods, and I’m not afraid to use them.

In fact, I’d already peeled a half-dozen oranges earlier today. In they went, too, the instant I’d taken the juicer out of the box and washed it. Oh, my. I’d forgotten just how good freshly-squeezed orange juice tastes! Why, I almost couldn’t detect the vodka in it at all.

Hey, I said it arrived well after dinner, didn’t I?