Yea, there’s a story to that. A couple of them actually. Something ails the melons this season; they keep dropping off like flies, much to the joy of some and the chagrin of others. Just keep in mind that no matter the circumstances, it’s a sad thing to lose a melon.
I have a friend that lives in a northern state. Truth is she’s my cousin. Non-GMO and organic is how she rolls. If it doesn’t meet the requirements, it doesn’t come in her house, much less in her mouth. Which bring up the beloved melon. Which she can’t stand. At all. Period. Mind you, this chick was raised down south, on a farm, where melons were a part of life. Of course, hijacking melons out of the melon patch at night could be a rough life and you may become sick of them after a while. And she did.
But hubby loved melon. It was his thing. After a family shopping trip to the handy-dandy non-GMO and organic market for fresh fruits and veggies, he finds a melon, almost perfect in color, texture, and smell. Which she loathed. The melon, however, made it’s way into the sack and prepared for the ride home. A nice ride, perfect, until hubby slammed on brakes because some lady wanted to pull out in front of him. The momentum of the immediate forward motion caused the melon to slip out of the sack, thereby rolling up to the front of the vehicle. A melon was on the loose! So hubby asked wifey to please catch it so it wouldn’t get hurt. Yuck, but okay. Until she maneuvered around the grab the little roller and pulled a muscle in her back. Stopped her dead in her tracks. But hubby was driving and melon was rolling and wifey was moaning and couldn’t turn around either way so hubby pulls off the road to help, opens the door to jump out, melon rolls all the way to the front of the car and splat! Flies right through the open door after hubby and meets it’s unfavorable end in a most unexpected manner. Yea, he cursed. Yea, she laughed. Such things happen in the life of a melon. My sincerest condolences.
There’s another friend in a more southern area that is a produce farmer. Raises the good stuff and sells it or gives it to those in need. Self-service with payment being on the honor system (people don’t know much about that nowadays). You just put your money in the cow mailbox. For real. I call it feeding the cow. Anyway, a few days ago he picked the cream of the crop, the best melon of the bunch, putting it in the back of the truck and then riding it up to the shed. Tailgate down. In pulls a car with a license tag that read “Blessings,” from which a lady slides herself out of and realizes she was indeed blessed, in a big way! Sharing her blessing, I guess you could say. So my buddy went to help her and soon realized what she wanted had to be picked. Poor fella. He was still deeply involved with the blessings and didn’t think as he got back in his truck to head to the garden, with the tailgate down and his prize melon in the back. Until he saw her jumping up and down in his rearview mirror. Oh no! Oh yes! The prize melon had taken a turn for the worst, right off the back of his open truck, and split open and spit everywhere. It was not pretty and his heart was sick, but he sure had been blessed, even if it was only for a little while.
These two stories really happened to my real friends, within days of each other yet in different parts of the country. I didn’t experience these predicaments but they were hilarious to me and I find it so amazing how simple things such as smashed melons can make the day so bright. Days later, I still laugh!
I remain comfortably ‘mum’ on any alleged nighttime melon hijacking incidents.