Cucumber: (n) a long, green-skinned fruit with watery flesh, usually eaten raw in salads
There are times I feel that the only thing I have available to show off is my ignorance. It is rather annoying.
Because sometimes I don’t know I’m ignorant.
The world is filled with so much information that it is completely impossible to be up to date on everything, leaving one and all with a spotty perspective.
One day I was at a luncheon with four dear women, and the waiter asked the ladies if they wanted cucumber on their salads.
On cue, they all giggled vigorously.
I joined them, not knowing what I was laughing about. (I hate it when I do that, because then people assume I’m in on the joke, and for the next terrifying minutes I have to listen carefully for context clues in the conversation, to try and figure out what has brought about the hilarity.)
These women were very tricky. They actually began to carry on a conversation about cucumbers that was so mystical and laced with code that I was unable to ascertain any true insight.
They started to discuss the smell. This brought on more comic relief. (At least I had the sense to stop laughing and just listen.)
One girl said she enjoyed the texture, which made everybody burst into rolls of levity.
One of the young ladies asked if anybody else had a preference with the size. Did they like their cucumbers short and round, or long and lean? There was not much discussion or disagreement on this one. Short and round won the day.
It became really frustrating to me when the salads arrived and as they nipped and chewed at their cucumbers, they looked at one another and moaned.
I realized they must be playing with me, but there was no hint of deception from any of them. They seemed to be lost in their world of cucumbers, without me knowing how to get to their location.
Wanting to join in, and chomping on my salad, I remarked, “I like cucumbers, too.”
My comment won the laughter fest of the day—although I felt it was directed more in the realm of humiliation than appreciation.