The Avocado Pit of Despair
The avocado pit was not supposed to become airborne.
And yet, within seconds, it was flying across the kitchen counter.
It all began when the pit slipped from Mom’s hand and launched itself into what I can only describe as an unexpected arc of chaos.
One moment I was standing peacefully nearby. But when it hit the floor, the instinct switch was turned on. I was instantly in motion, fully committed.
Mom crouched and yelled “NO!” with the kind of urgency usually reserved for collapsing trees (another story).
I would like it noted for future reference that this shouting did not improve my decision-making.
What followed was what Giggle Sprout now refers to as “The Great Household Investigation.”
Words like “Did he swallow it?”, “Where is it?” and, finally, “Call the vet!” were shouted. Very serious life decisions were suddenly being made in a kitchen that, only moments earlier, had been completely normal.
Mom and Dad immediately entered full search mode, which mostly involved looking at the floor, looking at me, looking at each other, and repeating increasingly urgent questions.
After the Great Household Investigation, I was rushed to the car against my will.
That was when I realized this was no longer just an investigation.
And we were not dealing with an ordinary avocado pit.
This was The Avocado Pit of Despair.
We arrived at a place of great machinery, where someone called a “Nemergency Vet” (not my usual vet) looks at you, says “Oh dear,” and then proceeds to take pictures of your insides for official purposes.
Which, to be clear, seemed like an overreaction given that I was feeling entirely fine. I would rather have appreciated a snack for emotional regulation.
The Avocado Pit of Despair was never found.
Giggle Sprout now insists it escaped into another dimension.
And me?
Well, I lived to tell the tale.
And I maintain my innocence.
