Naughty Jester

So do you give your directions with clinical precision or with do you pepper them with vague twists and turns?

Just yesterday, I popped into Rite Aid and proceeded to buy gum as a pretense from a young miss at the counter as I needed directions to a local lake hang out.

“Go down this road and turn at the big oak tree by Meyers (tied with a yellow ribbon?) and then go down a few minutes and there should be signs to Judas beach,” is what I heard.

After getting thoroughly lost, I stopped and asked a gay, young man walking his dog only to discover it was “Matthew’s beach” (so at least she got that it was an apostle) and it was a mile and half down Sandpiper Road.

I drove down that road about 3 miles without seeing signs and off to my right saw a young woman manning a cherry stand so stopped. I felt compelled to buy some of the Rainer variety as recompense for her silky directions. You know, the redish yellow type that melt into your mouth.

“Go back about a mile and right before the railroad bridge there will be a right turn into the parking lot,” she coo’ed.

I popped a cherry into my mouth and remembered back to my first real cherry at age 19. Prior to that moment, I thought they only came abnormally red, syrupy sweet buttons to top your banana split from a jar. When I tasted my first, fresh one it was like I entered a new and fantastic world.

“My God, I never knew fruit could be so naturally sweet! So firm and delicious.” I gushed.

Of course, I would go on to eat many more cherries. In fact, I can’t help but think there should be an adage like “a cherry a day keeps the Virgin Mary away.”

Do you remember your first time to taste sweet fruit?