A husband and wife duo shop together at a local grocery store. The wife, a short, slender-but-not-frail woman in her mid 60s, walks swiftly a few paces in front of her husband's motorized scooter. She skips from stand to stand, securing plastic bags, selecting fruits and vegetables, and twist-tying each closed with the speed and precision only observed in the most experienced of shoppers.
"Oh my goodness Harold, look at this beautiful watermelon! Shall I get one?" She asks hoisting the large watermelon up and against the front of her shoulder with her two thin arms.
Her wrists and hands wobble slightly with the weight of the great watermelon. Her tiny, wrinkled hands clasp each side of the watermelon's face as her wedding band and engagement ring pair glisten under the grocery store's florescent light.
"I don't like watermelon." The husband huffs from under the bill of his black "Korean War Veteran" ball cap.
He sits sideways on the seat of his red scooter analyzing the watermelon with his arms folded across his chest. His face, representing the age perhaps ten years his wife's senior, and lowered brow seems to ponder fishing, local politics, or television quiz shows, anything but grocery shopping.
"What do you mean you 'don't like watermelon'?" She asks in a scowl of doubt.
Her visibly penciled eyebrows rise in question at her censorious husband. She pauses enroot to the small basket attached to her husbands’ scooter, the watermelon lowering in her arms.
"There's nothing more to it Jan," The husband replies with his arms thrust outward, "I don't like watermelon."
"Harold, surely you're speaking in jest. EVERYBODY likes watermelon!" Says the wife smiling at her husband.
"'Everybody' does not include me. Look, I like cashews, but 'everybody' does not like cashews Jan… I do not like watermelon."
The grocery store’s light reflects from the “U.S. Army Infantry” and “VFW” pins attached to his ball cap as he shakes his head in objection.
"He doesn’t like watermelon" The woman declares to the grocery store's ceiling. “Forty-two years of marriage and unexpectedly HE doesn’t like watermelon!”
The wife turns back to the stand, lifts the watermelon back into position, and gently sets it down atop the rest. She places both her hands upon the stand’s edge; she takes a deep breath; and, she whips around on the heels of her white therapeutic sneakers.
“Harold, I thought you used to like watermelon? In fact, last summer I SAW you eat watermelon at Jeremy’s graduation party!”
“That’s different.” The man stated matter-of-factly.
“And how is that different? If I recall you ate several slices and were laughing and joking and carrying on!” said the woman squinting at her husband who now sat smiling with both of his hands on the grips of his handlebars.
The man dropped his head to his chest and cleared his throat. He looked up at his wife and smiled from the corner of his mouth.
“That’s because YOUR grandson, Jan, though it wise to pour vodka into that watermelon before that graduation party! What’s more, darling, young Jeremy also mixed vodka or some such nonsense into the lil’ cups of Jello that he offered to both his friends AND his aging grandpa.”
“Harold! You were drunk?” The woman said placing the pads of her fingers on each of her cheeks.
“What? It’s not like I tipped the bottle down my throat Jan! Look, not only do I NOT like watermelon anymore but I also HATE Jello, and red Jello with the mixed fruit and pineapple chunks and whipped cream USED to be one of my favorite deserts!”
The husband held his hands out to his sides again in defense. He then dropped his arms and exhaled at his confession.
“Oh Harold, I thought maybe you just got tied of my ole’ Jello Salad!” Said the wife with a sigh.
She smiled at her husband and rushed over to him, grabbing his tattood forearm with both of her small hands.
“Hell no Jan… Well, sorta, but only on account of our daughter’s crafty son!”
The man dropped his head and sheltered his aging eyes with the bill of his veteran ball cap. The woman lifted her husband’s chin with her soft hands. Their eyes met and reflected to one another the lights from the fixtures above.
“Harold, my love, would you like a nice cantaloupe?”
“I think a cantaloupe would be wonderful, Jan. I think a cantaloupe would be perfectly wonderful!”
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