As perhaps the biggest, most obnoxious finger-wagger in the world when it comes to procrastination, I just swallowed a heaping portion of irony for breakfast.
If you made it through my post the other day, you may recall that I noted it was time for me to apply more cayenne pepper to the three accidental cantaloupes growing over my retaining wall. My first application was in response to a previous critter taste-test. A new set of teeth-marks had just appeared on another.
I failed to heed my own suggestion, however, getting sidetracked by some other task. I’ve thought about it at least once each day since then, each time choosing to attend to something else.
About an hour ago, James insisted that it was time to pick the cantaloupes. He said the one on the ground had a hole in it, and wasps were flying in and out of it. James can occasionally be given to mild bouts of hyperbole, so I questioned his observation. (I was also in the middle of crimping a pie crust with flour and dough-clotted fingers, so the timing wasn’t particularly convenient). He pressed more forcefully, so I reasoned that they were probably close enough, and gave him the go-ahead.
He returned a couple of minutes later with two of the three, and I have now drawn a clear line between my procrastination and the fate of my poor third melon, which I am dubbing the “can’taloupe.”