The Swimming Hole

         When I was a child, I enjoyed spending time with Grandma and my cousins at the lake. She’d have us cleaning up after breakfast so we could swim.
         One particular summer day, Grandma introduced us to prunes for breakfast. Every grandchild got two prunes, to go with Grandma’s homemade biscuits and some of Grandpa’s honey from the bees he kept.
         “Don’t eat more than two,” she said, “or you’ll regret it.” I loved those prunes so much I finished the box while my cousins put their swimsuits on.
         Soon, we were all on the tailgate of the pick-up. I couldn’t wait to get to the swimming hole! This was the year I was going to jump off “The Giant.” I warmed up by jumping off the baby cliff. As I hit the water, I felt a pain. I broke the surface caterwauling and flailing about. My dad dove into the water, not knowing whether I was drowning or being attacked.
         “I’m coming, Judy! Hold on!”
         As he approached, my stomach cramped as if in a vise and I continued to screech. He grabbed me and swam me back to the rocky shore.
         “What’s wrong?” he asked.
         “It’s my stomach!”
         My cousin Jeff began laughing. “She ate all the prunes at breakfast.”
         As it turns out, prunes will percolate in the tummy and when it’s time, it’s time!
         Everyone was laughing and unwilling to drive me the short distance back to the house. Clutching my stomach, I ran down the caliche road, flagging down passing cars but no one was willing to pick up a wet girl in a swimsuit. I made it back to Grandma’s house.
         “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said. I never ate a box of prunes again.