These are Mangosteens, and they are superb. I tried them for the first time in Bali around 2000, and they’re still my favorite fruit.

I got this stash in Chinatown, and at the time I was fairly sure they were illegal. They were tucked way, way, way in back and it was about $40 for a small bag. I’ve since discovered that they were cleared for U.S. import in 2007 and small quantities are grown in Puerto Rico, mostly for gourmet restaurants.

They’re delicious, of course, but also so pretty. The purple outer shell is like a thin layer of carrot over a wide hunk of red pith.

You crack one open by squeezing it in your palm, and then peel back the pith inside to reveal the fruit.

I know they look a little like giant maggots, but they taste like juicy, peach-perfumed pineapple candy. The flesh is actually a lot like a very ripe peach, but with a bit more toughness to the fibers.

My niece likes them too.

Over the years, I’ve developed an aversion to pilots who use the intercom in flight. You’re trying to sleep, and they point out scenery visible on the opposite side of the plane. Or they delay the in-flight movie to impose their own form of entertainment on a captive audience. Until last week, I thought “but seriously folks” was the most distasteful phase a pilot could utter. As it turns out, that honor belongs to the phrase “Emergency Landing.”

For example: “This plane, which is hurtling through space with hundreds of flammable people aboard, is going to have to make an emergency landing, folks.”

Or perhaps: “If any of you have developed a sudden allergic reaction to gravity, please inform your flight attendants, as we are preparing for an emergency landing.”

See what I mean? Distasteful.

The pilot on this particular flight tells us we will be making an emergency landing at a new airport, one with a longer runway. Apparently, there are concerns about the breaks — specifically whether we have any.

The girl in the center seat turns to me with moon-pie eyes. She’s in her early twenties, and it’s the first time we’ve looked at each other since we boarded. I almost reach for her hand, but instead we stare stupidly for a few seconds. “The nearest exit is five rows up,” I say. She nods. I lean forward. “Five rows up,” I say to the girl at the window. “In case you can’t see, and you have to count.” This girl looks at me like I’m an insane person. Fair enough.

I reach into my bag for my ID so emergency personnel will know who I am. I tie my hair back and find my scarf so I can breathe through it if there’s smoke. I text my husband that I’ve always loved him and Hank. I wait for the plane to burst into a fiery ball of flaming fire.

Meanwhile, the flight attendants rush the aisles checking belts. There’s a problem with the landing gear, it didn’t descend electronically, so they had to crank it down manually. I’m trying to gauge how serious this is, and the flight attendants are exchanging significant glances. Glances that say, “I have never done this before. You?” “No. No, I have not.” Apparently, the attendants are sure that we have landing gear, because no one tells us to brace for impact. This is a profound comfort.

I decide that I will drag my seat mates out of the plane if there’s a problem. With the gallon of adrenaline coursing through my system, I’m certain I can heft them both like potato sacks.

I am mentally rehearsing hefting them like potato sacks as we land. The landing is utterly, blessedly uneventful — just like any other. Except for the fire trucks racing to the wings. And the twenty-year-olds over my shoulders.

The Cozy Up Guide

Winter! The one season where you have absolutely zero guilt about snuggling in with a good book for 17 hours or so. When there’s a blizzard outside, you can be absolutely sure that no one in town is having more fun than you and your dominoes.

OK, pretend a foreign dignitary is sitting on the stove and Rachel is listening raptly. Doesn’t this cocktail dress highlight her intellect and sophistication? Also, her bum? Agreed.

The outfit is actually two pieces. One is an incredible vintage dress I gave Rae a while ago, after carrying it around for years hoping to meet someone small enough to wear it. (I was reselling vintage clothes when I acquired it. I’ve since stopped buying thrift-store dresses for friends I don’t know yet. For the most part.)

Unfortunately, the dress is tailored to fit a ’50s-era bullet bra. That means there are two unnatural points where one’s (presumably enormous) nipples would be. Rae planned to have it tailored, but she recently bought this little jacket, so now she may not have to bother.

The feather earrings are from Forever21. Rae is smart about mixing more current accessories with vintage pieces so her outfits don’t read as costumes.

Speaking of which, her blue pumps are by Nine West.

Here’s a closer shot of the little black jacket, purchased at Backspace. It’s by a local San Francisco designer, but Rachel cut the tag out because the jacket is transparent. If you know the designer, tell us in comments and I’ll update.

And that’s it! I loved this one. Rae, thanks so much for letting us peek at your wardrobe. Let’s celebrate.

You, Ms. Brune, are a sucker for fun.

Apologies for the silence, I’ve been at CES, and I’ve had hinky traveling issues with Internet. So without further ado, let’s talk about Rachel’s next outfit:

As I said, cute. Cute! You see that full skirt, so you know where this is heading:

Twirling is mandatory when you’re wearing a skirt this good. Rachel’s skirt is, of course, vintage. (I know, I know, I can practically see all of you shaking your fists at the sky.)

Her T-shirt is Old Navy, and the Pop-Out pendant is by Melissa Borrell Design. It’s from Rare Device.

I’m so covetous of these vintage shoes. She found them while we were out shopping together, and never have I been so envious of Rachel’s teeny feet. Also, they have a cool fastening mechanism where they snap closed so there’s no wear on the leather at the buckle:

Neat.

Monday we’ll check out Rachel’s cocktail attire. It’s Audrey-tastic.

Take us out, Rachel.

Have a happy weekend everyone.