Honeydew or Honey Don’t

I’ll admit I struggled a bit to come up with a title for today’s post because what I planned to write about seemed a bit, well, b-o-r-i-n-g and I have a certain level of un-boring to maintain around here. So I did what most sleep-deprived folks do, I googled the correct spelling and instead of finding a mere answer, I found a trove of information I didn’t know I was missing.

The process went a bit like this:

  1. Decide to write about the hated “Honey-Do-List” in my life.
  2. Ponder ways of writing about said list in such a way as to neither offend anyone nor give too clear of a glimpse into my insanity.
  3. Be reminded that I don’t like honeydew and why does everyone put it in their fruit salads these days anyway?
  4. Think about precisely when I developed an aversion to honeydew because I’m pretty sure I liked it when I was a kid. Perhaps it is similar to the other two things I don’t like (fresh peas and watermelon) which I did like at one time. But then my dad was in charge of solo-parenting me once and his idea of keeping me entertained was feeding me vast quantities of fresh produce. I shudder to think of the gastric upset those two occasions surely afforded me.
  5. Ruminate over how I have actually found an appreciation of watermelon as an adult and I’m not sure if it’s due to my maturing palette or if I simply have an unappreciated skill for picking good watermelons?
  6. Go back to thinking about honeydew and finally accepting that of all the melons, I really only like cantaloupe; an affinity which may or may not include a desire to add corny jokes into as many conversations as possible.
  7. Get thirsty and stumble into the kitchen in search of either water or coffee and trip on one of the 10 paint cans currently sitting on the floor of my hallway.
  8. Slide 11th paint can on kitchen counter out of the way to better access the coffee maker.
  9. Read the Honey-Do List taped to my kitchen cabinet. Notice it is similar in length to the list hanging on the fridge as well as the bathroom mirror and front door.
  10. Decide that I’m not a big fan of Honey-Do lists either.
  11. Open laptop. While it is loading, sip coffee, burn tongue.
  12. Try to remember if honeydew is hyphenated. Google it. Find there is also something called honeydew that is basically insect goo.
  13. Add another fact to my ever-expanding collection of trivia which will never help me win pie in Trivia Pursuit.
  14. Check the time and realize that 18 minutes were just spent reading up on a topic germane to nothing.
  15. Sigh and go read the refrigerator’s Honey-Do list to figure out what I should be doing today.

Today is perhaps a tad odd for me, but not by a vast amount. Because my ability to get lost in my own thoughts as well as the internet puts me on the “extremely advanced” scale, which also puts me on the adorkable list, I’d like to believe. But because my husband and I are planning on putting our house on the market, I must dial back my adorkable and ramp up my productivity instead.

So I leave you with this bit of advice: Make yourself a “Honey-Do” list for every room in your house. And then freaking get busy crossing off some of those pesky tasks. Because if you don’t, you’ll find yourself finally getting around to installing the quarter-round in the living room so that someone else can enjoy it. And that leaves a far worse taste in a body’s mouth than a surprise cube of honeydew ever could.

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3 thoughts on “Honeydew or Honey Don’t

  1. You know, I hate cantaloupe because my grampa used to half it and fill it with ice cream every night for me and my sister in the summer. I think you’r on to something about the over feeding there!

  2. As a gardener, when I lived in Oregon, I tried to grow a peanut and a cantaloupe.

    Peanuts are very peculiar (and mostly grow for ex-Presidents in Georgia). They are related to ostriches. It started to poke its head in the ground, but did not get very far.

    The cantaloupe (which sounds like a Dr. Suess creation) got as pig as a grape. It likes Southern California, Arizona, and Florida much better than Oregon.

    We are refinancing our house (lowering our payments enough to pay our health insurance as it skyrockets toward our deaths). When we moved to our island, our goal was never to have a lawn. (We have woods, a fenced garden, and hens more protected than Fort Knox though we have already had a black hen lynched by a chicken hawk.) Somehow my wife has decided that cutting our non-existent grass is essential to our refinance. All husbands married more than 15 minutes (I am going on 47+ years) know that the proper response is “Yes, dear.”

    As my daughter just married her female partner of twenty years (now legal in Washington state), I am not sure how the honey system works. Buzzing out.

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