a knock at the door is often something you dread, or something you really look forward to. and sometimes there's a medium feel to it. but the positives burst air-wise when your neighbor is standing on your porch holding a whopping melon to gift you.
i especially admired the thinly white stretch of a star tracing out from the middle of the watermelon once i cut it quasi-crookedly down the middle. and it was not huge, but still monumental in its own way.
when i was little, my one older brother told me my other brother swallowed a watermelon seed, and it started to grow in his stomach, so they had to take him to the hospital to have it surgically removed.
you can guess that my family loved telling me tall tales in my more gullible days. of course they found it amusing when i believed the stories.
that same brother also once told me that while playing hide and go seek, he found my sister first and threatened to beat her up if she didn't tell him where our remaining brother was. this was all before i was born, mind you. so since our remaining brother was hiding quaintly in the dryer, they turned it on, with him rumbling around inside. they said he shrunk, and that's why today, he's the shorter brother.
i don't think i could tell a tale like that if i tried. i'm stuck to the truth like it's some kind of gloppy glue. but tales have their place, and so do melons.