I developed a vast appetite for watermelons when I was about five years old. My stomach’s precocious ability to store away copious amounts of the said fruit far outstripped my brain’s understanding of physics and its general principles of volume versus mass. I only understood that the mysterious beast was only to be obeyed without question and with the utmost expedience.

Being that at this time I lived in the primitive lands of the Gobi desert, under the reign of communist savages, science, in contrast to The West, was practically fabricated out of tatters of folklore. Naturally, I firmly believed that the seeds, should I allow a moment of carelessness, would germinate in the deepest reaches of my innards and burst from my abdomen if swallowed.

Murphy’s Law and I stood lockstep with one another, like contorted insects, encased in precious amber.

Now, I only eat delicious seedless watermelons. Organic if possible.