"Who is queen?"

"I don't think you're even capable of saying a bad word about anyone."
"I'm Italian-Irish-German. Trust me, I can be vindictive." I don't tell them that I am that special insidious sort of vindictive. The kind that uses sugar, spice, and everything nice. The kind that plays comely and kindly and then turns it into the most intimate of personal embarrassments. It is one thing to insult someone with words-- it is another to prove such accusations true.
"No," he said "No, I don't buy it. You're vindictive like... you're vindictive like a kumquat!"
"What does that even mean?" I ask through my laughter. Kumquats are not anything remotely approaching emotive, let alone vindictive.
"I don't know" he says, "But it fits. You're like the Kumquat Queen"
"Then I wouldn't mess with me" I said
"Touche. But you're still not vindictive. You can't be."

I don't know what made me think of that today. But then, when does one ever think of a kumquat except to make it a figure of speech or the butt of a joke?