God Save the Cantaloupe Queen

A cantaloupe was missing. I put away the groceries, grousing about those merry-go-round-style bagging racks that spin my eggs, ice cream, and now, apparently, my produce off to the next patron. It must have been a fruit ball bonus day for somebody—maybe someone who needed the beta-carotene worse than I did.

On a Friday afternoon, I had no intention of driving back to the supermarket for a $1.50 item. The matter would have been entirely different had this been something important, like a chocolate bar. Since it was only a cantaloupe, and because my mind was preoccupied with a speech I had to deliver, I didn’t give the MIA melon another thought.

My presentation was to be about writing opinion columns, something I’ve done with regularity (if not accuracy) for more than a decade. Nonetheless, I’ve always been a bit nervous about addressing business organizations. Anyone could be in the audience, possibly someone who’s read something I’ve written.

Who was I to hold myself out as an expert? That is, on anything other than avoiding housework (ignore it), taxes (remain unemployed) and responsible journalism (write humor).

The title of my speech was “How to become an opinion page star.” What the heck did that mean? How many guest columns would it take to make someone famous? Maybe just one, if the commentary focused on a hot issue like smoking, dogs or celebrity arrests.

On the day of my engagement, I chose to wear a peach-colored pants suit. The ensemble looked professional enough. My hair, for once, was having a happy day. And not a single stress zit had decided to make an appearance with me. I drew in a deep breath, thinking “Relax. If I trip and fall or spill tea on my tablemate, no one will remember it a month from now.”

That Tuesday morning, I strolled to the garage carrying my briefcase of books. And that’s when I noticed it, an odor I couldn’t quite identify. Something out there reeked. Had my husband set out a trash sack and forgotten about it? Searching, I found nothing other than the usual strewn tools, paint cans and prehistoric spiders. One of the arachnids waved and stepped aside for me.

Whatever the stench was, I didn’t have time to ferret out its source. If I didn’t leave, right then, I’d risk being late for my appointment. I tugged open my vehicle door, and that’s when it hit me: the methane from my missing melon. The cantaloupe had been in my car trunk, all along—for four, sweltering days!

Now my auto smelled like it had suffered a collision with a sanitation truck—at the end of its route—on a 110-degree day. I tried lowering the windows, but that action was promptly aborted when it wrecked my hairdo.

My right eye twitched as I realized my melon-colored apparel was absorbing the putrid, though strangely coordinating, fumes from my perished produce. By the time I got to my meeting I was sure to look like a fruit and smell like a farmer’s market dumpster.

Upon arrival, I vigilantly scanned the audience. To my horror, among the attendees I noted a state senator, a county commissioner and a newspaper publisher. Without question, though, I was the only star cantaloupe in the crowd.

If your grocery items should turn up missing, I’d advise an immediate search of your car trunk. And if you don’t find what you’re looking for, you might want to consider consuming more beta-carotene. I hear that cantaloupe is a good source—when you can keep up with it.

If you enjoyed this story and would like to read more like it, you may want to buy the book Driving on the Wrong Side of the Road: Humorous Views on Love, Lust & Lawn Care, by Diana Estill--available online and in your favorite bookstores.

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Last Updated: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 09:01 PM