The Lesser Melon

Every Christmas the family gathers to celebrate. Usually, we meet at my mother’s house on Christmas Eve, then Christmas day is spent at my house. Almost every family gathering, no matter the occasion, is marked by a potluck. Every time I ask my mother what she wants me to bring, she tells me vegetables and dip.

Now I know that my crazy, busy life is the reason why she tells me this. She knows that with my work schedule and raising three boys, I don’t have a lot of time to cook. And let’s be honest, she knows I hate cooking even though I am relatively proficient at it. Usually, I am only too happy to bring my vegetables and dip, but this year, I felt I was up for a more challenging fare.

I told her I was off work and could bring something a bit more demanding. Of course, this is my mother, God love her, and so she gave me fruit salad. Fruit salad? In December? Really?

Suck it up, I told myself. You asked for this, I told myself. You couldn’t keep your big mouth shut and be grateful for vegetables and dip, I told myself. And so, the day before Christmas I found myself in the local supermarket, trying to buy fruit for a fruit salad and not have to break out the credit cards to pay for it.

When I mentioned to my father how hard it was to find the requisite berries in December, he told me to get a cantaloupe. After all, everyone loves cantaloupe. Cantaloupe, okay. I can find cantaloupe…I think…I hope. Not much of a fan myself, but it didn’t seem like an overly summery kind of fruit.

I found a cantaloupe and ignored the stares of the other patrons buying more practical fare. It wasn’t a particularly large or good looking cantaloupe, but it felt soft enough. Coupled with oranges, bananas and apples I figured I’d have a perfectly respectable fruit salad come Christmas Eve.

I headed to the checkout counter and chose the self-check because I wanted out of the crowded store as quickly as possible. I frequently use self-check. I guess I’m something of a control freak, but it didn’t occur to me that some things are better left for the professionals. There are no barcodes on cantaloupe. In fact, there are no stickers with a convenient number to enter into the computer.

I pressed the button that said Look up item. An alphabet scrolled down the right side of the screen and in the middle were helpful pictures of frequently bought items. I scanned over the frequently bought items, figuring cantaloupe might be there, but I didn’t see a round, whitish-brown ball in any of the images. Not a problem, I told myself, for just to the right was the alphabet waiting for me to press. Logically, I pressed C.

A list of many C items came scrolling across the screen. I searched through the CAs, but found no cantaloupe. In fact, the only C vegetable (beyond carrot) was Casaba melon. Casaba? Not cantaloupe? In that moment, I heard Jerry Seinfeld’s voice in my head. Casaba? Casaba melon under C? Casaba is a lesser melon.

And then enter Doubt. Do I know how to spell cantaloupe? Maybe I don’t. When have I ever had the occasion to spell it? Maybe it isn’t spelled with a C, maybe…just maybe, it’s spelled with a K.

Glancing around sheepishly to be sure no one was looking, I pressed the K to M button. At the very bottom were the words melon, cantaloupe. Now it’s stupid to feel relief over something so ridiculous, but I was so grateful I wasn’t going to have to call over one of the overwork salesclerk to tell her that I didn’t know how to find cantaloupe in her computer.

Ringing up a $3.99 melon brought me back to the reason I was here. Tonight when I go to my mother’s house for Christmas Eve, I will present her with the most expensive fruit salad I’ve ever made and in my head will be Jerry Seinfeld’s voice saying, “At least you didn’t settle for a lesser melon.”