The Kumquat Theory

They look like mini oranges, no more than the size of a quarter, that you can actually eat whole.  Well, smart people nibble them because if you get a bitter one, the first bite is an education in wincing-without-swearing.  The clerk at the grocery store asked me what they taste like.  I told her, you have the bitter ones, and the other ones.  If you bite a bitter one, you have to have the other kind on hand to quickly remove that flavor that makes your eyes squint and lips pucker.  The trouble is, they all look exactly alike.

You need to either decide that for the quantity of good ones you may have, you are willing to forbear the bitter ones, or just not eat them at all.  How much like dating that is.  But I will also propose it is like other things in life too.

The other night I was picking up sticks in my backyard.  The bending over and squatting down took a toll on me, but not as much as the Kumquat Theory did.  I collected two wheel barrow loads of sticks and had to stop because my awareness was exhausted.  What?  Kumquat Theory – when things look alike on the outside, but can differ seriously on the inside - makes it imperative that I pick up sticks with 100% presence of mind and both eyes open.  I even wear my prescription glasses…  all of this attention to detail because of the one day I was picking up pine branches at my prior house in Bridgeport and almost grabbed the midsection of a snake in the process.  He was just lying there on the grass, blending in with the sticks.  Kumquat Theory.  I’m telling you he looked just like a pine branch on the outside.

Old guys and I seem to get along, mostly because I like their stories.  Little Old Ladies and I, eh, let’s just say  …. Kumquat Theory.  Some of them do not tread lightly on the land, nor other people’s feelings.  Like the one who used to tease me where I work.  One day she would tell me she doesn’t like dogs.  The next day she is asking if I have a litter of puppies still at my house.  She feigns interest in the puppies, I show her a picture of them (well, okay a few on my cellphone).  Then she gives me this patronizing look like I’m a simpleton for my love of dogs.  I retain polite composure and pretend it doesn’t hurt my feelings.  I always walk away feeling like Charlie Brown after Lucy pulls the football from him mid-charge.  The last time I spoke to her she said she used to give her dog raisins … and then suggested with a wicked smile that I try feeding them to my dogs.  I looked it up with an online search:  Raisins cause kidney failure in dogs and kills them.  Kumquat Theory.  I never take the time to speak to her anymore.

I am at a loss at present to think of another example of the Kumquat Theory but perhaps you have one?  If it’s hard for you to remember what to call that experience, just remember what they taught us on Sesame Street:  One of these things is NOT like the other!

#######