returning cantaloupe (m)

There's a phenomenal farmstand a few towns away near where Sam went to high school.  The best I've ever seen.  Saturdays there remind me of what life must have been like in Pompeii or at a Medieval Fair with lots of people, fresh fruits and vegetables, warm, freshly-baked breads.  Sensory overload.  Communal.

My mother loves this place.  They give out alot of free samples.  Last week, I took her there.  She had corn on the cob (they give you half a piece, cooked, with stations for butter and salt), pasta with sausage and a cream sauce, pesto on a baguette, watermelon, fresh cherry tomatoes, blueberry bread and cider donuts.  I had some of the tomatoes which were amazing.

I bought many vegetables and fruits, among which was a cantaloupe.  At dinner that evening, I served the cantaloupe.  It was sour.

The next day, my mother calls.  "What are you going to do with the cantaloupe?"  Throw it out, I said.

"NO!  You can't let them get away with that!  You should take it right back!"

She thinks everyone is out to get her.  If you didn't know the context, you'd swear someone torched my house.

I had some time the other day.  Got in the car, drove the 15 miles and returned the cantaloupe.  The customer service person was accommodating but a little stunned that someone should return cantaloupe.  It cost $4.99.  While I was there, they were sampling bran muffins, tomatoes and mozzarella, a sharp cheese, heirloom tomatoes, the season's first Macintosh apples and, pineapple.  It was lunchtime.  I was hungry.  I had some of everything.  Even after a year, I don't know how to calculate some of the points, but I'm sure I was "over budget" by the time I left.

Got in the car before I was tempted to have seconds.  On the drive home I realized that this whole trip cost me more in gas money than I saved returning the cantaloupe.  The salt in the wound was the additional points I consumed.

Aagh.