Oh, the carnage. The red juice-bath that snaked rivers down arms and soaked innocent little shirts. The white shark teeth that plunged — without pity — into the tender flesh.
Welcome to Watermelon Season.
Ok, so maybe it’s still a wee bit early for the really GOOD Texas watermelons, but each time we pass the green pile of watermelons at the grocery store, all the Kidlets begin clamoring … pleading and wheedling for WA-TER-MEL-ON, WA-TER-MEL-ON, WA-TER-MEL-ON!
(their loud chants are only endearing to the chuckling customers who pass us, thankful this passel of screaming wanna-be fruitarians isn’t in their carts)
By the way, this might be my favorite Barney Kneeknuckles face ever. EVER.
To pacify the savages, I buy the asked for pale watermelons — full of juice but only slightly sweet. And like a swoop of vulturistic plunderers, they descend. Barely stopping to breathe. Biting and biting and biting. . . only stopping when they reach the white-green rind after Daddy makes them.
And, as they slurp and swallow, their little eyes are ever watchful. Wary. Heaven forbid another sibling get one more piece than they do.
