My husband usually calls to chat when he’s commuting from work. “Remind me when I get home; I have something for you,” he said. I wondered what it might be. He often brings home little surprises. Sometimes it’s a pastry of some sort, or a plant, or a book that he thinks that I might like.
Not this time. This time, my husband brought these home from work. They were on the kitchen island in a small plastic baggie.
I looked at them through the baggie. I (cautiously! oh so cautiously!) eased them out of the baggie. I laid them out on the island.My husband stood just off to the side, watching, amused.
“So, what the heck are they?” I finally asked him.
“Guess,” he said.
He didn’t laugh. He really doesn’t get my jokes.
“Are they an insect of some sort?” I wondered, distracted by the little black “legs” protruding from the surface. “Nope,” he replied.
“Give me a hint, at least,” I begged.
“Well, it’s a fruit,” he said, unhelpfully.
A fruit? Really? Really? I considered this.
A very hairy, masculine strawberry? On testosterone, maybe.
After a while, I gave up, but he still didn’t divulge the fruit’s identity. He cut it open, removed the center (after which I was leaning back toward my pod theory) which turned out to be a smooth white spongy oval that resembled a small hard-boiled egg, except that there was a pit where the yolk should be.
It tasted like a grape. This, actually, was not useful in helping me to identify the fruit.
Turns out, it’s a Rambutan. So I tried it, which enables me to proclaim that at the age of 49, I got to try a fruit that I’d never had before…and may I just say, “Eeew.”
It is experience that I’m not in planning to repeat.