Nope, just too ashamed.
In my defense, I was out quite late the night before and came in marveling at how even my hair hurt. My stomach was in no condition to face such torture. I begged to postpone one day, but the individual who brought in the watermelon said that if she lugged it in, I was damn well going to eat it. Then she unveiled the damn thing. Now the rule was that it had to be bought at a grocery store, not at a county fair, but I think she went out of her way to find this thing. She was, of course, one of the primary naysayers in response to my claim.
I figured maybe the dehydration thing would work in my favor, considering what had been posted by others, so I cut it down the middle, grabbed a spoon and went to work. I quickly found out that to keep my melon from becoming a swamp, I also needed a straw for flood control. I do believe that this was my undoing. The watermelon was fine, the gallons of juice I sluiced through the straw was just unpleasant.
I finished the first half of the laughing green beast at the 25 minute mark, but already all was not well in Spider’s world. His tummy is used to being given a good layer of grease after being abused with the Beam for a night, so the avalanche of sweet mush was certainly a surprise. At the half way mark Mr. Tummy decided the joke had gone on far enough.
As I dug into the second half, I figured I had plenty of time, but certainly was not at the top of my game. Just so everybody knows, I WAS IN NO WAY FULL. I was nauseous. Too much sweet, too fast. I reached three quarters with about 15 minutes left, and while employing my straw to drain a puddle of juice, my tummy shut down. Knowing the many moods of my digestive system, I could tell that this was a time to not pick a fight, so I set down my weapons and slowly backed away from the watermelon.
Had I been at a picnic, just eating slices and making a mess, This would have been no problem. Seeing as how I was sitting at my desk in a suit, I had to be neat and let nary a drop spill. I might also add that I failed to hold my audience’s attention, and as the crowd diminished I lost the fighting spirit.
Just to make my stomach happy, I used the last 15 minutes of my luch hour to eat a sandwich.
I have admitted defeat, although, like a pansy I made excuses for it. Be gentle.