So last week I was up and seeing my hubs off to work. I poked my head out the door after he left (to remind him of something that I forget what it was now) and I notice Mbumbo and his crew in my yard. Actually, it was just Mbumbo pushing a wheelbarrow toward the side yard, but he doesn't do any sort of "heavy lifting" alone. I ran back inside and followed him around the house; looking through windows in each room, as he made his way over to the back patio.
In what can only be described as a 'Psycho' moment, I freaked.
They were chopping off my dates. I repeat, They. Were. Taking. My. Dates.
Apparently it had been as clear as mud to them, when I communicated mere weeks earlier that I wanted them. Mine. Anula was not in yet, so it was up to me to rescue any remaining dates. Pep talking myself, I rehearsed a simple, yet clear statement. Out the back door, into the 108F (42C) degree weather (at 7:30 am) I plunged.
Me: Hi. Where are the dates?
Mbumbo: Huh?
Me: (walking around the house to a date tree, then pointing upwards at the now barren branches) Dates. Yellow. Where?
Mbumbo: Flower?
Me: No, date. Yellow, little, up in tree?
Mbumbo: Oh, no here. Sorry.
(now, at this point, asking why would do no good nor clarify the conversation)
Me: (walking over to the wheelbarrow and hefting out a semi-ripe bunch) Dates. I want.
Mbumbo: Oh, oh, yes.
I ran back inside and grabbed an empty book box (I knew I kept those around for a reason). I helped myself to what was left in the wheelbarrow and went back inside. They weren't my first choice, but they'd do. I had had my eye on the tree in the side yard; two bunches of dates that were perfectly yellow, no green ones and no overripe ones. But, que sera sera.
Anula came in later and was just as puzzled, confused and irate as I was. She had told them flat out that we wanted them. Grrr. Oh well. When life hands you mostly ripe dates, what do you do? Make good dates. We washed them, dried them, then set them out in the sun for a few hours every afternoon. We won't leave them out all day because of the dust and wandering cats or birds.
P.S. I spied on them through the slits in my kitchen blinds the rest of the morning and imagined my eyes were laser beams.
3 comments:
Like a preschooler who pretends to forget that you said no cookies before lunch... send them to time-out!
You're brave! I love that you just went to the wheelbarrow and took them back.
I bet they really were laser beams. And I bet they didn't touch any others. Time-out would probably be nicer though...
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