The Bananas

We’re not what you might call a banana-loving family. We don’t hate bananas, but we’re not in love with them, either.

We’ll eat them, especially if they’re the last thing in the cupboard. We’ll take them, but we’ll leave them, too. Have I made myself clear? I have more explanations if you want them, but I believe that’ll do it.

I’m good at shopping for myself. I can get all the products I need, which are only seven things, and put them all where they need to go in the house.

Shopping for three people at various stages of development, as well as for two grown-ups with vastly different needs, is challenging. It’s a different ballgame.

Charity is a pro. She has it all in her brain and knows where everything is in the store. She’s mapped it out, compared prices, and pre-planned her routine. Or she orders pickup.

This particular day, it was two degrees Fahrenheit, so the pickup was closed, and rightly so, but that meant that we needed to go shopping in the store like in the old days.

Our boys were sick this entire week, and we didn’t want to take them anywhere or get them out in the cryogenic atmospheric conditions. Charity stayed home with them, and I went and did whatever needed to be done in the evenings. So I didn’t have to get in the back of the car to strap the boys in their car seats or for anything else.

She gave me a list, and I trekked to the big store in the subzero weather.

The list included bananas.

I always try to choose the greenest bananas on the little multilevel banana holder. I found the greenest ones on the tray. There was zero yellow on these puppies.

I went through the rigamarole of choosing, buying, loading, and unloading the groceries. It was a highly successful endeavor.

Or so I thought.

Yesterday, Charity asked me, “Why didn’t you buy bananas last week?”

I was walking across the room as I responded. “I did.”

“I never saw them.”

“Uh…”

“Are you sure you bought bananas?”

“I have never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Then I stopped. “Oh, my word.”

I stepped out the door to our North Siberian-esque garage and opened the back door to the vehicle. The bananas lay in a plastic bag on the floor.

“Here they are.” I laid the bag on the table and opened it.

The bananas were black as night and as frozen as the Antarctic peninsula.

And we weren’t sad about it. Like I said, we can take them or leave them. It’s no big deal.

“I’ve frozen bananas before,” Charity explained. “You can still eat them.” She peeled one and took a bite.

She commenced spitting and sputtering. “Bleh! These are horrible!” She spit them into the trash can.

The bananas froze before they had the chance to ripen. She had bitten into a frozen, black, green banana. And that particular type of banana is not very pleasant.

We decided to get some more bananas. Charity placed a grocery pick-up order today.

She requested five bananas.

We went to the big concrete block superstore to pick up our order. The young man brought our groceries and loaded the small space between the back seat and the back hatch.

We arrived home, Charity got the boys, and I opened the back glass to retrieve the groceries.

All I could see was bananas.

The young man had loaded them last, on top of all the other groceries. They covered the entire width of the car.

“Charity! What’s with all the bananas?”

“What?” She sounded perplexed.

“How many bananas did you buy?” I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“I only bought five bananas!” She hollered from the house.

“I don’t think so.” I hollered back.

You may be wondering, “How many bananas did you receive tonight?”

Thirty-five. THIRTY-FIVE.

Remember, we’re not banana people. We can take them or leave them.

What are we going to do with THIRTY-FIVE bananas?

We asked each other that question several times. We decided we’d have to make banana pudding, banana bread, banana muffins, banana ice cream, banana pancakes, and banana cake. Maybe we can make banana preserves.

I’m currently looking at a table full of bananas. And we’ll take any recipes you have.

to the banana connoisseurs,
– Caleb