Fruit of the loom

When I was little my siblings and I would treat a pomegranate (we called it a Chinese apple) like it was chocolate covered strawberries. It was as if the word got out before my mother came home from grocery shopping. I kid you not, we would clear off the kitchen table (I miss that kitchen it was soo big) and cover it in newspaper. It was most definitely a big deal because we were collectively cleaning as a group (which we NEVER did) there had to have been a prize. It didn’t last long but my older sister in the house came up with this game on who could clean their room the fastest. I mean it was like she offered money (which also encouraged to do the right thing). It was entertaining when the thrill to beat my brothers died out. We were so ridiculously competitive, mainly because of my dad and we had nothing better to do.

My father always (still does) playfully compare his children and forced us to compete. But my father is too smart he would then drill into our heads that we should not compete then make us share the glory. For example if the prize for cleaning up the room was a donut (always hid the goodies) he would make us split one or give us all one. He wanted us to stay together no matter the circumstance. 

But anyway I just recently ripped into a Chinese apple and good god, I even took a break to give it my undivided attention. There is no way to experience one without getting a little messy. I think I am genuinely attracted to pomegranates though.