Life is just a bowl of cherries

A man who is not my husband.

The other day I was riding in the car with my husband, who had grabbed a bowl of cherries to eat on the way. About 10 minutes into the drive, I noticed something weird. Or, should say, I noticed something NOT weird.

When my husband eats cherries in the car, he always disposes of the pits in this way: He rolls down his window, spits the pit out to the curb, and screams, “ALEX CHERRYSEED!” (As in, he’s like Jonny Appleseed, except instead of planting apple trees, he’s planting cherry trees. Mixed with his spit.)

That particular day I noticed he had not even ONCE screamed, “ALEX CHERRYSEED!” What followed:

Me: (looking in the bowl, still half-filled with cherries) Um, where are the pits?

Him: Huh?

Me: What are you doing with the cherry pits if you’re not spitting them out the window?

Him: (shrugs)

Me: Wait, are you SWALLOWING the pits?

Him: Maybe.

Me: What?!? You can’t do that!

Him: Yes, I can.

Me: No, you can’t!! You can’t eat cherry pits!

Him: Sure I can.

Me: I am definitely certain that NO YOU CANNOT and now you’re going to get really sick.

Him: Or maybe I’m just growing cherry trees inside me.

Me: (fuming, because this is NOT a joke and people are NOT meant to eat cherry pits even though I’m not sure why, and I just know he will not have to face any consequences for this behavior because isn’t that always the way)

Him: (eats another cherry; swallows the pit)

Me: What is wrong with you?!?

Him: (continues to eat more cherries and swallow their pits without commentary)

Me: You are one odd duck.

Image from: Rodale’s Organic Life