Confessions of a not-so-hot shopper, cleaner
I think of myself how others may not see me at all — as a reasonably savvy grocery shopper and as a decent housekeeper who likes order.
But I proved myself wrong on both counts this past week, including at the grocery store where I was buying some watermelons for a group feast.
It is wrong to be a prideful watermelon shopper.
So far this watermelon season, I have had great success with purchasing them, though, which is basically a hit-or-miss pursuit honestly.
Yes, I look for the watermelon to be a certain shape and size, and yes, I look at the ends to be sure there’s that yellowish brownish patch that’s supposed to be an indicator of sweetness, and yes, I knock on the watermelon, listening for a certain hollow sound that’s supposed to be another sign of a good watermelon ready for a picnic, but I do wonder what on earth would I do if I heard a knock in response to mine.
A store attendant asked if I needed any help, and I smugly but sweetly declined.
“I’ve had really good luck with picking good watermelons,” I announced, the words no sooner contaminating the area around me when I realized I had probably jinxed myself.
A lady near me perked up at my admission, wondering aloud if my expertise extended to cantaloupes or honeydew.
Though the prospect made my head swell even more, I admitted it did not. I turned off my fruit halo and put several giant watermelons in my buggy, my aerobics workout for the day.
By the time I got around to slicing those watermelons for a picnic-style gathering, I made two alarming discoveries.
The watermelons were a pinkish color I don’t prefer, and they had black seeds everywhere.
What??!! They still make watermelons with seeds??!!
Why yes they do, by golly, and labels on the watermelon will indicate that, if you’re a savvy shopper who pays attention to such things.
Oops. My bad. I cut the watermelons and extracted all the seeds as punishment.
What was I going to do — take the cut-in-half watermelons back to the store, leaving a dripping trail of juice in my wake, complaining that I can’t read such little labels? Oh well.
I always think my surroundings are pretty tidy, and I am generally mortified to discover otherwise.
The other day, Better Half and I were sitting on the back porch, and I was getting ready to go in the kitchen to pour a glass of ice tea.
“Grab me a toothpick, will ya’?” Better Half asked.
Well, I grabbed a toothpick from the box that sits on a little corner counter by the stove, and I no sooner quickly touched a toothpick from the little box when it started to fall to the floor — with all the toothpicks headed on their way to the floor.
Only the weirdest thing happened on their downward descent.
They became suspended at varying points down by a major cobweb I didn’t even realize was there.
Wow. Another proud housekeeping moment.
I should probably take a mental health day from work to properly recuperate.
(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at email@example.com.)