As I laid in bed this morning, pretending my daughters were not awake and the alarm was not about to sound for the third time, I found myself pondering the mystical watermelon.
I asked myself what happened to the days when watermelons were so prevalent we cracked them open on concrete and ate them with reckless, juice covered abandon?
I wondered how watermelons became more precious than gemstones.
...more in demand than barrells of oil.
I asked myself why grocers and even the odd overflowing truckbed now charge eight to ten dollars for subpar melons the size of cantaloupe.
Watermelons that taste like sand.
Where are the watermelons of my youth?
Watermelons the size of small children...
Pink and delicious
... and three dollars.