I reached over and grabbed the orange.  I held it in front of my face and examined it.  I gave it a small, mysterious smile.  I half blinked my eyelids lazily, while gazing at the fruit with piercing intensity. Then I pursed my lips.  The orange, clearly sharing my romantic intent, moved closer.  A second later, we were kissing.  As I kept my eyes closed, I tried to really *feel* the moment, to *be* the moment, like we did in scene exercises at Young Protégé Acting Camp.  ...I felt . . . stupid.  I threw the orange down, or maybe it fled, dismayed by our obvious lack of chemistry.