“If I painted myself orange, do you think I could spy on the carrots?” one of the bananas asked. “I think they were looking really suspicious at lunchtime.”
“Nah, we can just check in with the tomato later and see what’s going on,” the honeycrisp apple said. “He blends in with the vegetables without doing anything special.”
“But isn’t that suspicious too? Maybe he’s spying on us,” the lemon said.
“And who put you in charge, anyway?” the orange said. “Oranges are the only fruit impressive enough to have a color named after themselves.”
The apple’s shiny peel glinted in artificial light. “It’s due to my many talents. I’m fierce enough to frighten doctors, but charismatic enough to charm teachers. I’m sweet enough to put in pie, but healthy enough to be included among the common healthy snack foods. I’m just amazing like that.”
“And so modest, too,” the granny smith apple said, obviously feeling a little green with envy. The lemon snickered.
“Well, I challenge you to a duel,” a banana said.
Just then, the tomato shuffled towards the fruit bowl, hiding in the shadows. The honeycrisp apple turned and waved his stem. “Hey, tomato. What’s the news?”
“Oh, the carrots and celery were threatening to throw the radishes out of the relish tray again. You know radishes. They can’t stop making sarcastic, biting comments.” The tomato laughed.
“How are the cucumbers doing?” the grapes asked.
“Why are you asking?” the tomato asked.
“Hey, I challenged the shiny apple guy to a duel,” the banana said.
Everyone ignored him. The grapes giggled. “No reason. I just think we have a lot in common. Can you introduce us?”
The orange gasped. “Traitor! Fruits and vegetables are natural enemies. We don’t befriend them.”
The grapes pouted. “Tomato does.”
“That’s different,” the honeycrisp apple said. “He’s a spy. So, tell us what you have in common.”
“We’re both immortal. We live on in death,” the grapes said. “Isn’t it romantic?”
“Ew. No,” the lemons said. “Being pickled or dried out isn’t living on, you twit. It’s a cursed half-life. No one should want to live on like that. It’s unnatural.”
“Why do you have to be so sour?” the grapes asked.
“I’m a lemon. It’s what we do.”
The banana huffed. “Hey, if you don’t duel me I’m going to sing loudly until you give into my demands.” He began to sing terribly off-key. “If all of the raindrops were carrots and oranges, oh what a rain it would be…”
“I object,” the orange said. “Carrots would never be classed with oranges by any one with a discerning eye for value. They obviously copied our color in order to try to fool the gullible, but no one smart would ever mistakenly mix us up.”
But the banana sang on…
“I’m out of here,” the tomato said. “Later.”
“Wait,” the grapes said. “What about the cucumbers?”
And the banana continued to sing. “If all of the raindrops were apples and radishes…”
“Make him stop,” the orange said. “If he continues, we’ll all end up as crazy as he is.”
The lemon snorted. “Will that make us bananas too?”
“That was a terrible joke,” the orange said. “But it was kind of funny.” He laughed, and the banana sang on.
“Fine, fine,” the apple said. “Bananas, what are your demands?”
“I want to be in charge,” the banana said.
“Sure, you’re in charge,” the apple said. “Here’s the rotation schedule for all the fruit, so that no one gets shoved in a dark corner and goes bad and takes us all with them.”
“Oh,” the banana said.
“And here’s the optimum fruit arrangement for the bowl so no one gets bruised. And here’s all the paperwork for the seasonal rotation. Pay special attention to the holidays. They’re tricky.”
“Never mind,” the banana said. “Can we just declare today banana day and forget all about me being in charge?”
“Okay,” the apple said. “Happy Banana Day.”
“Happy Banana Day,” the other fruits chorused.
“Thank you,” the banana said. “That was beautiful.”
“Excellent,” the apple said. “Meeting adjourned.”