Friday, August 29, 2008

The Muskmelon

The only black marks on our spectacular Great River Road adventure are the muskmelon and the low washer fluid reminder.

After our foray into history at the Laura Ingalls Wilder Reproduction House, we stop at a roadside vendor to shop. The Owner of Questionable Ethnicity but Ridiculously Tanned Skin convinces us to try a muskmelon. Again, the DNB's 4-H experience fails him, and neither of us have any idea what one is. According to Wikipedia, it's a species of melon which has been cultivated into, among others, the more popular varieties we typically buy: honeydew and cantaloupe. We never stop to wonder why muskmelon hasn't appeared in our grocery stores. Our heads have obviously not be pledged to clearer thinking, otherwise we never would have brought that little Spawn of Satan's Gastrointestinal Tract into our vehicle.

A few miles down the road, we stop to wander along a long pier that juts out into the Mississippi. When we return and get in the car, the stench inside is overwhelming. I immediately recognize it.

"Has one of your farts been simmering in this hot car for the past 30 minutes?" I say accusingly to the DNB.

"No," he replies sincerely. I believe him, because this man OWNS his farts.

We turn simultaneously towards the back seat and eye the muskmelon. It sits alone, forlorn, and rank enough to turn my stomach.

"And that's why they call it a muskmelon," the DNB comments dryly.

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