A week or so ago, around 3:30 am, I felt Husband get out of bed. Through half-open eyes, I saw him turn on a dim light and pull on pants, then go downstairs. When he returned, I mumbled, “Wassamatter?”
“Nothing,” he said, “go back to sleep.” So I did.
Turns out, he had heard something, a loud POW from the first floor, so he’d gone to investigate. Fearing a break in, he’d checked all the doors and windows. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he’d returned to bed.
In a few hours, Husband couldn’t sleep so he made his way downstairs to the kitchen to put water on for coffee. He discovered the counter was wet – wet like someone had dumped a whole glass of water on the counter. Searching for the source, and finding nothing, he picked up a roll of paper towels and found the roll had soaked up a lot of water and was a sodden mess. It was about then that the stench hit him.
It was also about then that he wondered, “WTF?”
Given these clues, Sleuthsome Readers, what do you think happened? Burst pipe? Careless housekeeping? An evil stinky-water fairy?
You’d be wrong. It was (dramatic pause) a watermelon.
We get a share in a CSA (community-supported agriculture) every week and that week had included a sugar baby watermelon. They are about the size of a bowling ball, deep green, and, true to its name, sweet and delicious. Reconstructing events from the scene of the crime, it seems the watermelon had rotted from the inside out then just exploded, jumping up from the counter then leaking its wreaking organic innards all over. The result was a caved-in watermelon and disgusting rotten smell.
We only had it a few days but it was so hard I didn’t think it was very ripe yet. It sat on the counter in a relatively cool spot for a few days, but unbeknownst to us it was brewing a plot to blow up.
If only I had known – I would’ve put it on Thug Life’s back porch.
I did tell the farmers who actually grew the offending melon. They were dumbfounded but laughed with me when I suggested that we had discovered new biological weapons of mass destruction. “Perhaps we could rain rotten watermelons from our bombers,” I joked. The farmer told me that watermelons are hardest to tell if they’re ripe in the field. They gave me two watermelons for my troubles and I said, “If this one explodes, I’m gonna take it personal.”
Now, I’m the Exploding Watermelon Girl when I pick up my share. This week, we did get another watermelon and as I signed in one of them said, “We have another bomb for you this week.” Because it’s hilarious. Did you know watermelons can burst? I mean, EXPLODE? I didn’t hear the boom but I know that if it was loud enough to wake Husband it must’ve been loud because that man wouldn’t hear a dump truck drive driving through a nitroglycerin plant.