Surgical

I came home from a long walk and heard soft, songlike muttering in the kitchen. when I rounded the corner, no one was there except for The Banana, who was nestled in a corner with a container of strawberries and a pairing knife. She was sweet talking the strawberries that she was “giving the gift of plastic surgery,” removing their hairy pimples, their spots of green that should be red, their unnecessary green tops right before she chomped them right down. It totally cracked me up.