I ate a lot of watermelon this week...a lot of it. Between the excess of watermelon and the disgusting amount of time I idled on the Internet today, I feel like I'm having a mini-Carnival. A minival, if you will.
Anyway, eating so much watermelon, I came to a realization:
Eating a watermelon slice perfectly embodies the concept of diminishing returns.
The first bite is delicious. It is sweet and juicy. It's like biting into nature's own bran of water ice.
The next bite is good, although by now your fingers and cheeks are getting sticky. You are already starting to think about napkins instead of thinking about watermelon. But that first bite was really, really good...you can't help yourself.
Before long, however, the watermelon is losing its sweetness. The red is turning to a pinkish hue. The delicate texture is becoming meaty.
Pretty soon, you are gnawing on sour pieces of rind...hoping to squeeze one last taste out of whatever vaguely speck of red or pink you can find. But you know it is too late. You are at the end of the watermelon slice. There is nothing left for you there; just memories of sweetness spoiled by the bitterness of the present.
Until you pick up the next slice.
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