New evidence has been dug up in the ongoing investigation that the cucumber might not be as hip as previously thought, despite its former reputation of being “cool.”
An extensive exploration into its life revealed the fruit (Or is it a vegetable? I’m still a little fuzzy on the details…) as being quite a novice when it came to living up to the physical and sociological demands of being a cucumber, as showcased by its “green” characteristics.
“I once overheard the cucumber say it was capable of transforming into a pickle after it was plucked from its vine,” said fellow garden cohabiter, the carrot.
“Amateur,” the carrot said chidingly. “Thinks it’s a magician.”
“Me, on the other hand?” the carrot suddenly asked no one in particular, sensing its five minutes of fame. “I’m gonna be a big star. I’m taking acting lessons! Check it out – this is me….being a basketball!”
Grunting, the carrot attempted to curl into a ball and after several attempts, blamed its lack of flexibility on the fact that it didn’t have the proper time to stretch beforehand. “Well, anyway. The orange can do it better than me.”
A background check on the cucumber exposed startling information never before released to the public. This exclusive interview with a bushel of beans sheds light on the cucumber’s spotty past.
“The cucumber? Yeah, I knew it in high school. Always wore those shirts with the unicorns and wolverines on them,” scoffed one bean, a former sprout and classmate of the cucumber. “And not ironically – like, it really enjoyed Code Red Mountain Dew and finding its own square roots. And trust me, were they ever squaaaaare…”
“Plus, one time the cucumber asked out a tomato and got totally rejected,” another bean added. “A TOMATO! ZOMG! Can you imagine!?” The beans snickered amongst themselves.
“We throw those at vegetables and fruits that CAN’T act,” said the carrot knowledgeably. “Please.”
“Plus, the cucumber had really bad skin,” said another bean. “One word: warts. Uh, groooooss!”
Sensing my journalistic responsibility to impartially report on the matter, I confronted the beans with authority. “Um, yes…Aren’t you guys known as the magical fruit?” (Seriously, we need to think of the grave ramifications of thoughtlessly labeling vegetables as fruits– it’s confusing to everyone.) “And as for your own societal value, would you care to explain the phrase, ‘Not worth a hill of beans?’”
A muffled, nervous toot from the back of the group broke the lengthy silence.
Making sure I wasn’t downwind of the garden, I hurried off to find the cucumber, who had called an emergency session with its psychiatrist to address some of its most common and serious allegations. “I guess maybe they could have meant that I’m like, ummm….refreshing?” the cucumber asked unsurely.
“You tell me,” answered the psychiatrist, a turnip and fellow neighbor of the cucumber, as it rubbed dirt from its eyes. “Perhaps the answer will TURNIP in your journey toward self-discovery,” it said wisely, with a boisterous smile.
The cucumber looked humorlessly at the turnip. “I’m not paying you to self-promote.”
The conversation proceeded to digress from the cucumber’s lack of hedge funds needed to secure its family’s property in the shady portions of the garden for years to come to its irrational fear of being eaten by the neighborhood dog, Suzie, on her next attempt to defile the lawn.
Not obtaining the answers I was looking for, I returned to the garden searching for the truth. I found the cucumber’s arch enemy – the lemon.
“Do I think the cucumber is as cool as a watermelon that doubles as a fruit boat for a backyard picnic on a balmy summer day? Of course not,” scoffed the lemon from high atop its tree in the backyard. “And other fruits and vegetables taste refreshing in a tall glass of water too, you know,” it finished sourly.
“MMMHMMMMM!” mmmhmmed a nearby mint plant in agreement.
Trying to nail down some tangible answers, I went back to the carrot for further questioning, only to find it was last seen making a one-time appearance in a delicious stew made by the gardener that evening – a stew that the gardener’s family would later review as being “garden variety.”
The only other plant left in the garden to be interviewed was the zucchini who, similarly, was unavailable as it had been asked out on a (rather unoriginal) date to play squash.
I was in a pickle. Not knowing what to do or think, I sat down in the grass, moments away from writing off the story entirely.
“Oh, come on,” the cucumber yelled out cheerfully, relishing my dilemma. “We didn’t mean to catch you off gourd! With puns like these, how could I NOT be the coolest one in this garden?”
“It’s true,” the garden dwellers cried in unison. “This whole time, we were just gherkin your chain!”