The Runaway Grape

Yesterday we had a Healthy Recipes Luncheon sponsored by our church-based nurse, Valerie Perez. Valerie sponsors these luncheons so our members know how to eat healthfully. All participants bring a low-calorie, low-cholesterol, high-flavor dish and supply a recipe for everyone else. I made Pollo Diablo which is Spanish for Devil Chicken. It might not be a good name for a pastor's entree but I got away with it. As we were sitting down to eat, Myra MacDonald's sister Flora was complaining about the rain, which has been falling in vast quantities. It may be due to Tropical Storm Fay lashing us with the tip of its tail. Flora has a deep voice and an even more pronounced Texas drawl than most of Smalltown. She grumbled, "I got a whole buuunch of puddles of waaahter in mah yaaard. I got enough waaahter to raise duuuuuucks."

We had twelve women and one man at the luncheon. The man was Tom Morrison, a retired principal. He came with his wife Sandra. They sat a few seats away from me. I hoped Tom felt welcomed and included and not uncomfortable with all of us females. My efforts at inclusiveness were probably futile given what happened after the meal.

I sat across from Sophie Yelicich who came from her home in Mudville. As the luncheon drew to a close, I saw a bewildered expression cross Sophie's face. "What's the matter?" I asked her. She responded, "I had a grape on my fork. I was bringing it up to my mouth to eat it. And now it's gone." Almost by reflex, we all peered under the table to see where the grape had rolled. But nobody could locate it. We were all marveling at the ability of the grape to de-materialize. Suddenly blond-haired Barbara Carter spotted it. It had rolled between the two feet of Tom Morrison. Barbara blurted, "That grape is between Tom's legs!" Amid the laughter, Sandra Morrison called out, "Nobody move! Keep your seats! I'LL GET IT!"