Allegedly, he had a papaya tree that got infested with some nasty Chupacabra-esque, papaya-sucking fly. Allegedly, all of his fruit were rotten, and he had to chop his whole tree down because they now know where he lives and will always return. Like flying zombie stalkers.
He stopped by my house yesterday and started coveting my papaya tree. And then had to ruin my joy telling me about his alleged infestation. As soon as he left, I went out and picked my best papaya to check for maggots. Ewwwww.
Ewww, nothing, it was perfect inside. Except that it wasn't ripe. His girlfriend suggested that I could make a papaya salad with it. That looked like way too much effort, what with the pounding and whatnot. So I skipped most of that, sliced it up, and added fish sauce. And even more salt. It's very crunchy and not bad at all. But who knows if it will kill me.
According to the University of Florida, the unripe papaya juice is fatal to the Chupacabra-esque, papaya-sucking, flying zombie stalker larvae. Now I'm wondering if I ate the papaya before it was infested or if I just ate dead larvae. Oh well, extra protein, right? And it's all organic. Let's hope the unripe papaya juice isn't fatal to Wendys.
I decided to consult with my food scientist friend, who's not actually a food scientist by trade but for some mysterious reason likes to cook and knows everything about food. Pretty much he knows everything about everything, but not in an annoying way. In fact, henceforth, he shall be known as Einstein on these pages. Anyway, Einstein is now my go to Food Scientist expert. I text him randomly and ask if what I just ate will kill me, like when I ate slightly old pork tenderloin that the cat rejected. I can't see his face when he gets these random texts, but I imagine a long-suffering yet amused sigh, and a slight smirk. Or maybe that's just me. I'm never too worried because my family has been trying to kill me with food for years. As you can see, they haven't succeeded. Yet. I have a pretty strong constitution at this point.
In that same vein, I gave a different brother a short list of people to notify if I die. [He's never tried to kill me with food. Only motorcycles and cars.] These people might otherwise think I just became a snooty bitch who stopped responding to their texts and phone calls. Maybe one of those people would be so kind as to post a comment here, letting you guys know. Or you can just happily assume that I'm taking another 7 year hiatus. Upstate. On a farm.