I carried a watermelon? Oh how many of us can identify with poor Baby in Dirty Dancing when she meets bohunk heartthrob Johnny Castle and proudly announces that she “carried a watermelon.”
Let’s face it, for all our collective cool, Noel Cowardly bon mots sometimes –particularly when faced with a character who, you note, could probably be trained to mix you gin and tonics and probably not actively hate your mother– say Dumb Things. We have all, for lack of a better term, carried a watermelon.
My longest and most successful relationship began with me threatening to drown my former gentleman caller by the ankles, while just this week I had a double whammy of telling a gorgeous, possibly Nordic, stranger –after he told me I had the most striking grey eyes he had ever seen– that “They didn’t work.” He, English not being his first language, looked at me as if perhaps I was blind or just, more probably, psychologically disturbed, beat a steady path away from the crazy lady and I haven’t seen him since.
That was quickly followed by my walking up to an acquaintance –whose eyes are that startling husky blue that make you wonder if your skin is on inside out and if your babies would sunburn easily– and announcing for absolutely no reason and with no context whatsoever that, well, I can’t even say it was so embarrassing but it might have involved the words “goaty” and “hymnal.”
Francesca and Plumcake want to know:
Tell us about the time you “carried a watermelon.” Did it work out or did you crash and experience and epic, goaty, hymnal-laden burn?