No watermelon ever again!
Alarms should have sounded,
VOOP! VOOP! VOOP!
Doors should have slid shut and locked down the pod. Tribbles have nothing on watermelon for creating trouble on the spaceship.
How can two-thirds of a cup of bite-size watermelon pieces in a sealed Rubbermaid storage container turn into a sticky flood of a skilled nursing care room? Housekeeping left the mess for me to find, and I don't blame them one bit. What was I thinking?
How did Howie manage to flip the watermelon so it would coat the side of his mattress, the floor under his bed, the pad beside his bed that keeps him from cracking his head open when he falls out, the floor under the pad beside his bed that keeps him from cracking his head open when he falls out ...pink stickiness oozing and spreading contagion like an episode from the original Twilight Zone?
© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder