It was a race. A struggle. They were just coconuts but Raja mastered up an evil plan and turned it into a competition. Something that I couldn’t say no to.
Last week, we brought back some coconuts from my dad’s place. Actually, it was more like, what little coconuts that were left behind (rejected by Tara) were generously handed down to us. Oh the highness, so merciful.
Anyway, those coconuts had been sitting on our kitchen floor for a week. Until today. We figured they had enough alone time and it was due time to sacrifice them. So, Raja picked up two stainless steel knives, one visibly bigger than the other. As we sat ourselves on the cold cheddar colored kitchen tiles, he handed me a knife. Not just any knife, the chic-sized knife. And he told me to cut away. He was totally cheating!
He was already almost half way hacking into his coconut while I was still miserably scrapping the outer layer of the coconut skin. Clearly, he was winning. With a whole lot of complaining pouring out of my mouth, he finally surrendered the bigger knife. THAT, apparently, was not much help at all. Something was wrong. I figured if it’s not the knife, it must be the coconut. My coconut was crazy thick. And I’m not talking about my brains here.
So after more laser-zapping complaints shooting out from mouth and some puppy eyes thrown in, he gave in and we switched fruits. It was great. He fell for the fragile-wife card. Oh how I LOVE competitions. Now, all I needed to do is a little slashing with the knife to reach the center. Nothing happened. I slashed again. Nothing. Eh? What’s this? Isn’t a coconut, just a nut?
Desperate, I tried clawing into the cavity of the coconut. That just made my fingers hurt. I tried banging it on the floor. That just made me look like a retarded cave women. Alas, Raja had beaten me to the stupid coconut chopping contest. It figures. He was born in the year of a monkey. Totally cheating again!
Feeling defeated and loser-ish, I blamed it on my weak pathetic limbs, I used to call arms. If only I had Jillian Michaels’ iron biceps and steel triceps, I would’ve won. I’m just saying.
Raja was kind enough to show me how to kill a coconut, the right way.
By the way, did I mention the contest was stupid? It was stupid. The next time I drink a coconut, it will be at a restaurant. Where it belongs.
Why are you wearing shoes in the house?
Protection. My aim was and still is THAT bad.