Ellen Million (ellenmillion) wrote,
Ellen Million

Why there will be no more pumpkins in this house.

To begin with, I'm not a big fan of pumpkins. (What they call pumpkin spice, yes, but I feel like apple cider spice got unfairly scooped in advertising when it came to naming flavors...) So every year, my daughter makes puppy eyes at me asking about getting a pumpkin to carve, and every year, I reluctantly let her do it, and every year, I'm finding pumpkin seeds stuck down with pumpkin goo to my floor and furniture for a week after the great pumpkin carving massacre.

I can see the appeal of Jack-O-Lanterns, though; it's exciting to have angry vegetables with fire in them.

But this is the last year we are doing living pumpkins, and here's why:

We bought this year's pumpkin through a fundraiser at my daughter's school. It had a little rotten spot that we carved out as part of the design. In retrospect, I should have been more wary of this pumpkin.

Because we did not get a pumpkin.

We got an X-files case.

A few days into enjoying our cheerfully scowling pumpkin, I observed slimy mold growing on the inside of the pumpkin cap. “Hmm,” I said. “I think we might have to throw out this pumpkin tonight!”

Daughter and husband picketed with signs and threatened tears and the government was overthrown to keep the pumpkin. It had only been a few days. A little mold wasn’t going to hurt anything, right?

Are you hearing the ominous music right now? Think Carmina Burana with the rising chorus. It’s hard to convey that in writing.

The next morning, the pumpkin was bonelessly slumped into itself, its features more foolish than frightening.

“I’m going to have to throw it out,” I announced, and the resistance threw out their picket signs and conceded the battle.

I added that to my list of things to do that day, and got in the shower.

“Mommy… the pumpkin is making water on the woodstove.”

This isn’t the greatest thing to hear as you’re trying to get the world’s slowest daughter to elementary school. But sure enough, there was a puddle of slime next to the already-more-slumped pumpkin.

Prepared for what I thought was the worst, I got a garbage bag and started to roll the pumpkin into the sack.

Unfortunately, I no longer had a pumpkin. I had a leathery skin on a rapidly disintegrating bag of pumpkin juice. At the slightest touch, the squash DISSOLVED. Rotting liquid began to gush from it, down the side of the woodstove, across the floor, making a break for every crack it could find.

I moved in to a whirlwind of cleaning, and there was a flurry of paper towels and cleaning spray, and a second garbage bag because the goo had oozed around the opening as I rolled it in, and there was swearing that my daughter was clearly filing for future use, and there was nasty pumpkin water EVERYWHERE.

And that is when I vowed that no living pumpkin would shadow my doorstep again.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth: https://ellenmillion.dreamwidth.org/1650883.html
Tags: humor, rants

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