but it only slightly wounded me . . . in the pocketbook.
“Why on earth would you buy something called a horned melon?”, you would ask.
And I would answer, “I was taken in and dazzled by the slick perveyors of exotic fruit at Christmas-time at the super store!” I can picture that when the produce manager was making an end-of-day inventory and realized one of these had been sold, he chuckled to himself and thought, “I can’t believe some poor schmuck actually bought one of those!”.
But, in my mind, it must be good, or they wouldn’t sell it, right? When you look at it, can’t you just picture natives on some tiny, isolated island where this is the main edible vegetation, enjoying roasting these over campfires or simmering them with some native grasses and a few grasshoppers for a hearty stew? Me too.
So, I took my horned melon home thinking, while I wouldn’t do any roasting or stewing, I would eat some of it in all its freshness with a sandwich for lunch.
A little background: When I was little and we ate watermelon, there were lots of seeds in it (back then they would have just laughed that someone would even try to grow a seedless watermelon!). So you learned very young to do some sorting in your mouth — you sorted out the seeds, spit them on your plate and then savored and swallowed the delicious pulp.
So, while I could see the seeds were plentiful in this fruit, I was undeterred. I would simply apply what I had learned in childhood and do some in-the-mouth sorting and spitting (in a very ladylike manner, of course) in order to enjoy this exotic new fruit.
Unfortunately, as I believe I have mentioned before, my mind tends more toward the creative side and not so much to the analytical/mathmatical side. So, there is a ratio thing going on here that hadn’t occurred to me. When I attempted to eat this fruit, it was practically all seeds, with just a bare minimum of melon holding them together. I only ate one slice. And ate probably isn’t the appropriate word. Because by the time I spit the seeds out, there wasn’t anything left to eat! The horned melon went in the trash.
And now, when I walk past the horned melon display in the produce aisle, I smile a knowing smile and keep on walking! That slick produce manager has put one over on me for the last time!
“Oh, wait a minute, what’s that ugly brown thing with wrinklely skin over there on the next aisle? I wonder how that tastes?”
Curiosity may not have killed this “cat” yet, but hopefully she’ll learn her lesson before she uses up all her lives!