Mangoes

It’s just a mango, I want to tell the jerk blocking my path to the bananas.  A $1.99 mango.  The fate of the free world does not hinge upon your wife picking the ripest, juiciest mango, buddy.  He seems to think it does, though, and he’s not shy about letting her know.

“How can you not tell the difference between a good mango and a crappy mango?” Mr. Produce Connoisseur of the Century demands to know.

“A mango’s a mango,” his wife replies in a tone that tells me they have these types of arguments on a regular basis.

“No, there are ripe mangoes and then there is that piece of garbage mango you’re holding right now.  Squeeze it.  Does it give slightly or is it still rock hard?”

“Are we seriously going to have this discussion right now?” she asks.

“We are if you want me to make a decent mango salsa for tonight’s dinner party.”

Seriously?  These people throw dinner parties where homemade mango salsa is served?  What do you put that stuff on – nacho chips?

“It’s still hard,” she then says.

“I figured.  Now smell it.  Does it give off a fruity aroma?”

“It smells like any other piece of fruit that gets shipped into Canada…like it sat in a box for days on end before arriving here.”

“It’s not even red!” he scowls.

“Not all mangoes have to be red.  It depends on the type.  I know that much at least,” she says in her own defense.

These two don’t know anything.  Well, they might know more about mangoes than I care to, but they don’t know squat about what’s really important.  Like when they vowed on their wedding day to love and cherish each other; they really were supposed to mean that they would love and cherish each other and not go out of their way to make the other one feel like an imbecile for being poorly versed on the finer points of mangoes.  And that dinner guests, the fun ones anyway, don’t really care if you serve mango salsa.  They just want to spend time with you.  And how you just never know when a drunk driver’s going to get behind the wheel and kill the most important person in your life; you know, the one you vowed to love and cherish.  And how it will take everything the person left behind has not to have a total meltdown when they hear couples fighting over stupid things.

It’s just a mango, people.  Cancel the dinner party if finding the perfect one stresses you out that much, and then spend the rest of the day in bed together.  That’s what I know.

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