The Curse of Coconuts

    I might have been able to tolerate coconuts before, but I have never liked them. Every since I was young the coconut has been a cursed fruit to me. I can remember being a kid and nearly choking to death on a Hostess coconut snowball on my aunt’s front porch during hot summer months. I remember the coconut cake at my sister’s wedding that she shoved in the groom’s face before running out of the reception hall in tears (they divorced within a month.) Coconuts are a heinous hairy fruit, none too pleasant to look at and taste horrid.

    So it goes without saying that when I met my Trent and found he was deathly allergic to coconuts, I was pleased. I would never have to deal with the fruit again. Trent and I were happy together, blissfully happy. We dined on apples, oranges, peaches, papaya, pineapples, bananas, mangoes, kiwis, every citrus, every berry, every melon but never coconuts. Such a fruit was forbidden in our household. Life was good.

    Trent and I were married and at the wedding the cake was chocolate with not a trace of coconut (with my sister crying into her cocktail remembering her own wedding.) Trent and I had a happy little life together and the dreaded coconut never showed its face again, until that faithful trip to Hawaii for our five year anniversary.

So there I was, on the beach with my “loving” husband Trent. He lounged on an orange plastic beach chair under an oversize umbrella, whilst I decided to get myself something to drink from the juice bar. As I walked barefoot across the hot sand, Trent yelled over his shoulder “Angela, babe, get me something too!”

  I scowled at the back of his head. Little did he know, earlier that day I had come back from my massage to hear sultry music playing from behind the closed door of our hotel room. I had smiled thinking he was trying to surprise me with a romantic afternoon delight. I opened the door just a crack at first but that was enough to see him romping with the hula dancer in our bed, her flower lei all a tangle. I heard her ditzy giggle as he untied her coconut bra with his teeth and threw it just a foot away from the doorway. I had stared at that damned coconut bra almost hard enough to burn a hole into it as I listened to their panting.

  Coconuts, a fruit that will forever boil my blood. My “loving” husband...

  So at the juice bar I stared down at the sand beneath my feet feeling depressed and angry. I ordered softly. A strawberry daiquiri for me and for dear Trent, a coconut concoction. I looked up as I was handed the drinks, my eyes meeting those of a sexy shirtless cabana boy with olive skin and short dark hair. I grinned and batted my eyes as he flirtatiously smiled at me.  In my mind I could see the coconut bra laying there as I heard their voices, Trent and his coconut lover. Coconuts…

  I took the two drinks back to Trent and sipped my daiquiri casually. He didn’t even look over at me, just reached over his shoulder, blindly groping for his drink. I handed the glass to him and took a step back. He brought the straw to his lips and I held my breath, bracing myself. He paused.

  “Ya know, Angela I love you. This trip has been amazing.” He smiled.

  “Cheers then, to this lovely vacation and a happy marriage.” I raised my glass and looked over at him, waiting for him to take a drink. Trent took the straw then paused again and I silently cursed at him, “Damn it Trent, drink the drink!”

    Trent removed the straw and quickly downed half the glass. He sat up, pondering the taste. Finally it hits him all at once and his eyes go wide. Trent began choking and gagging as his skin broke out in hives. I left him to it and walked back to the sexy cabana boy. I’ll have to figure out what fruit to use against him should he break my heart.