Our Newest Child

So I was shopping at the Jewel tonight, and I picked up a new family member. I've decided to call him Steve. As you can see, Steve is a small, tentacled, yellow alien cyclops.

And his butt smells a lot like lemon.

I think that calling him Steve is a lot nicer than calling him a creepy little fruit thing, despite that being a deservingly accurate description.

I was at the Jewel tonight when I saw this little orphan alien, sitting with his two brothers by the bananas like three day-laborers in front of a Home Depot. Except they did not have a sign saying, "Painting, shingling, decking." They didn't have a sign at all.

So, really, I had no idea what planet Steve was from, or what species of alien fruit he might be.

Except you know me. I thought I knew exactly what it was. And it turns out, I was right.

But I didn't tell the people in line that. In fact, the cashier had never seen an alien fruit like Steve. She asked me what he was, and I told her I couldn't tell for sure. The bagging girl said he looked like a scary alien, and I assured her that I would keep my other fruits safe from Steve.

They called produce; they called the store manager; they had someone come out and appraise Steve, but they had no idea what he was. He must have been cleared by the MiB during the day shift and abandoned in the banana-land.

Eventually, they allowed me to leave the store, having discovered a workaround to their strange alien immigration laws.

As soon as I got home, I had Nicole verify that I had bought what I thought I'd bought. Wikipedia is wonderful for such things. On showing Gamble, he cracked up. He thought Steve was really cool.

First he asked if he is a pumpkin. When I told him that he needed to smell Steve's butt (where all the tentacles come togther), he cracked up again, and he did.

"MMM! Smells like lemon," as I've already mentioned.

"You see, Gamble, this fruit is called Buddha's Hand. It's a citric fruit, like lemon." Except it has an additional delicious scent. Something absolutely fabulous. Like the smell of a mouthful of fruity Mentos (that's what it smells like. Really. It's better than it sounds).

"When can we eat Steve?" asked my little cannibal Gammible.

"Maybe tomorrow night."

"Maybe tonight?"

"No way. It's way past your bedtime."

And I went and sang him a lullaby about a very special toy at Christmas.

Then I came back to the kitchen to sniff Steve again. Wow!