(*Subtitle inspired by Naomi Dunford. See comment at bottom.)
Another Stuff ‘n’ Junk Report — where I pick any random item of mine, new or old, and tell you something about it. It’s inventory, with detailed back story. Like show and tell, but more tell than show.
Today, an old item:
Watermelon, cut into cubes.
When I say old, I mean old. It’s on the bottom shelf of the fridge in one of those clear deli containers, and producing some sort of gas, which is condensing on the inside of the plastic. I bought it at Valentino Market, which, despite the Italian name, is the Korean deli around the corner.
I buy watermelon there every morning, and have a fight every third day over the price. It’s my summer ritual. One lady charges me $3.25 flat, one charges me $3.25 plus tax, which comes out to $3.54, and then there’s a guy who charges $3.54 plus tax, which is $3.83. He’s the one I fight with.
Why is the watermelon still there?
Because I was planning to finish it, and the days just got away from me. It’s just a few pieces, but that’s my style: if I can’t finish the last bite or two of something, I save it for later. You never know when you’re going to want just a bite of something.
Saving bites is part of the Belgray culture. Once, at my family’s house, a friend opened the fridge looking for a snack. He said, “Oh, look! Little bitty bites of things to eat. I’m in the mood for just a bite of sweet potato. I sure wish there were just a bite of sweet potato — say!!” He turned around and showed me a nest of tin foil he’d opened, encasing a nub of sweet potato.
At this stage, the watermelon isn’t going to satisfy any sudden cravings, unless I have a hankering for a bite of fermenting fruit. But at that high – and disputed – price, it’s hard for me to just toss out.
Plus, it’s in a recyclable container. So I know I should really open it, dump the spoiled chunks, and rinse the plastic. That will be gross. I’ll wait till my husband, Steven, makes me do it. Or does it himself and tells me that if I weren’t with him, I’d be like our neighbors with the apartment full of rotting books and cabbage smell. He’s probably right.