I was stirring a pot of simmering marinara the other night, chatting with an old friend who was positioned at a barstool in my kitchen drinking wine when the front door burst open, and my mom swished in. “We got melons! Put this in your fridge and eat it later,” she said sunnily, thrusting a bowling-ball sized watermelon into my hands. 

(0) comments

Welcome to the discussion.

Keep it Clean. Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexually-oriented language.
Don't Threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be Truthful. Don't knowingly lie about anyone or anything.
Be Nice. No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading to another person.
Be Proactive. Use the 'Report' link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with Us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article.