New writer alert! Rob Marchant is a British content marketer, husband, and father living in Brisbane, Australia. He has a lovely wife, a maddening toddler, and a miniature schnauzer who is frightened of her own farts. Read more of his funny stories and other bits on Medium.
When the weekly grocery shop is done and our foodstuffs replenished, an impressive pile of bananas always sits atop our dining table.
If I buy the groceries, I’m proud of that little pile. But if my wife buys them, it seems less a pile and more a menacing fruity mountain. Her bananas are simply too large.
When I approach the dining room and my happy, normal pile awaits, a curve of a smile appears on my face. But when I approach after my wife’s customary mountain of potassium has spread itself across our table—spilling over the edges of its bowl like the hand of a jaundiced giant—I find myself stopping, hesitating, deciding that whatever I wanted from the dining room (banana or otherwise) can probably wait.
I’ve never broached the topic with her, because it all seems so silly. What kind of man is put off by too much banana? And who would raise something so childish with his devoted wife (a woman of impeccable integrity)? Nevertheless, my heart sinks when I turn into the hallway and see our very walls glowing yellow, my wife’s grotesque mass of corrupted bananas reflecting light off their fleshy skin instead of absorbing it.
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