I was sitting here working my poor fingers to the bone when an Albertson’s commercial came on touting their latest and greatest produce. It reminded me of one of the few times I ever went to Albertsons. They are not my store of choice. I can never find what I want without going up and down every isle.
It was just my daughter, Brittany and her friend Britney and of course me because they were too young to drive. Seeing as how it was summer and the thermometer had already burst its little bubble at 100 plus, we decided a watermelon would be nice for dinner.
We were wondering around thumping the available selection for the ripest, juiciest green and red orb of sweet delight. Mostly the girls were thumping just for the fun of it. They had no idea what they were listening for.
At last, I found the one with just the right hollow thump that told be it was ripe, so I put it into our basket and started to walk away. A man approached us with a melon in his hands and another in his cart.
So, what do you say when a person of the opposite sex says, “Will you thump my melon?” It took me a moment to realize that he was serious. His wife had sent him to the market and he had no idea what to look for.
I thought of several snappy comebacks, but there were children present so I refrained from being a wise ass and thumped the man’s melons for him.
Tump, tump. Tump.