My grandpa was an expert thumper, well, at least I thought he was.
There was that one time when he was sure that he had picked The Perfect Watermelon, but the lady at the counter of the Farmer's Market on Indian School Road in Albuquerque convinced him otherwise. He returned it, got another one, and don't you know, it wasn't ripe.
My grandpa never forgot that. And neither have I.
No comments:
Post a Comment