Centralia Fireside Guard

Follow Us On:

Story Time: Pumpkins

Posted on Tuesday, October 10, 2017 at 2:34 pm

By Lorry Myers

They are everywhere. I see them sitting in clusters in someone’s front lawn and lining the pathway into the grocery store. I feel slightly ashamed that I am not loading my cart with the symbol of the season but I have no desire to take that orange thing home. It’s not that I don’t like pumpkins; I like pumpkin pie and pumpkin bread and any other pumpkin sweets that involve icing or whipped cream. I like painted pumpkins, but I am not a painter. I like glitter pumpkins, but my husband banned glitter from my house years ago. I like pumpkins, I really do.

I just don’t like what’s inside.

I will bring one home and let the squirrels eat it uncarved, or I will find a simple pumpkin with directions and provide the tools for someone else to carve it. I just cannot put my hands into the insides of a pumpkin.

Eww.

My husband makes fun of me for keeping my hands to myself. When my children were little I encountered all sorts of dirty situations that didn’t seem to faze me. There were unplanned diaper disasters, and since these were my children, my hands went the places they needed to go. When my kids were sick in the night, the same hands that comforted them would also clean them without thinking about it at all.

I can do that but I can’t stick my hand in a pumpkin?

It’s not just the inside of a pumpkin my hands refuse to go; there are other things that creep me out. I make meatloaf using a wooden spoon, but I’m not sticking my hands in there. I will plant flowers using gloves, spread pizza crust with a spatula and believe whoever invented disposable liners for a crockpot is genius. I don’t want to knead bread or stick my fingers in a drain or my hand inside of a stringy, damp pumpkin.

That’s not all.

I prefer to eat fried chicken with a fork and brownies with a spoon and hold my fast food wrapped in the wrapper it comes in. My doughnuts have a tissue holder, my ice cream is surrounded with napkins and my glove box has wet wipes just in case.

“What is it,” Randy will ask this time of year, “that creeps you out about the inside of a pumpkin?