Dorky Dad
| Engineering the fun out of melons |
|
|
|
| Written by Dorky Dad | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Wednesday, 28 May 2008 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
In the old days, watermelons came in one form: huge. You needed a forklift to remove it from the produce aisle and it always made your cart tip over like Fred Flintstone's car. As the lone male in my house I was always given the responsibility of carrying the melon, which left me with many a watermelon-induced hernia. Eating one was like consuming a side of beef. We kept it at the bottom of our fridge and it took us about a month to finish it -- in fact, I don't ever recall ever actually finishing a watermelon. That may be because we never actually finished a watermelon. Or it may be due to the fact that as the week goes on the watermelon in the fridge disappears beneath a large puddle of pink, sticky watermelon juice that accumulates on the bottom shelf, the nearby floor and more than a few shoes. As kids we ate the first bites of watermelon with gusto, eagerly burying our face into the sticky-red fruit. Not only did our faces get wet but our shirts looked like we were run through a car wash.  How big a watermelon should be. Yet I hated this because I have the patience of a jackrabbit on meth and frequently just ate the damn seeds because I was too lazy to search each one out and remove them and I found it annoying that I had to spit them out. While I enjoyed periodically using those seeds as weapons in my annoy-the-sisters arsenal, spitting them in their direction would usually result in an episode of hair-pulling and an immediate grounding from Mom. But I don't worry about getting grounded because of watermelon anymore – for one thing, try as she might, Mom can no longer send me to my room. In addition, thanks to genetic engineering and a few nuclear accidents, watermelons barely even look like watermelons any longer, inside and out. Some of these frankenmelons come gloriously without seeds, enabling an impatient lout such as myself to be able to eat without angrily beating the watermelon to a pulp out of frustration. Others are “personal”sized watermelons that you could practically stick in your pocket – no more melon hernias for me. They've engineered everything I hate about watermelons right out of them, and now it somehow just doesn't seem the same. The annoying, sticky mess of a watermelon and the back injuries they cause are just part of summer -- much like sunburn and heatstroke, lightning strikes and extremities blown off by wayward fireworks. It's not summer without them.
           
Powered by JoomlaCommentCopyright (C) 2006 Frantisek Hliva. All rights reserved.Homepage: http://cavo.co.nr/ |
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
We recently consumed a watermelon. At least I think it was watermelon: it was green on the outside, pink in the middle, was filled with many black seeds and when I was finished I was surrounded by a moat of watermelon juice. Yet it was also small and round and I had to keep telling myself to eat it and not try shooting it through the nearest hoop.| < Prev | Next > |
|---|
