I got carroted (prounounce as garotted please)

I thought I'd gone off carrots after the other day when a sluice of orange juice roared upon me.

Someone had wanted to make carrot juice with my help so I dutifully peeled and chopped his sack (yes sack) of carrots and popped them in the blender.
The first blender we tried started smoking so we abandoned that and went onto the next. The cupboard contained four so I had faith that one would work.
Trial and error and disappointment led us to grating the carrots, then boiling them, then finally success with more water.

Carrot juice! Warm, but still unmistakably carrot juice.

I opened the lid of the blender tap and watched in slow motion horror as an orange liquid leapt at me. All over me. Over my jeans, over my ham and egg patterned socks, over my long suffering desert boots. My client remarked that it was '"very disappointing".

I thought as I went on a little date half an hour later with no opportunity to change that at least if someone likes me like this then they really like me.

Alas no.

Oh well. Anyway, so I thought I was 'off' carrots but I enjoyed them surprisingly much on Sunday evening (boiled with honey) along with roast chicken, parnsips, broccoli and gravy. And Leila and Alex's company.