Thy Neighbor's Fruit

Saturday afternoon I sent Sam and Jake next door for some Band-Aids. I gave them explicit instructions to knock, ask for a couple of Band-Aids and come home. Don't invite yourself in to play and don't dawdle too much. (I really needed the bandages).

I watched them cross our front yard, go up on the porch and ring the doorbell. As soon as the door opened, they both stepped inside. Fifteen minutes later they were back with the Band-Aids and a bag of fresh-cut pineapple.

Now maybe any food procured at someone else's house is better than what you have at home. (When I was in high school, the Diet Coke at my friend Pam's house was the best Diet Coke ever. And she always said the milk at my house was the best.) Or maybe my kids are suffering from scurvy and needed a citrusy boost. But the three of them hovered over that bag of pineapple like cavemen protecting a fire. Like hyenas. Like vultures.

So I'll add pineapple to our next grocery list and it is likely no one will eat it. Maybe the kid next door.