I will never, ever again think the banana boat song is cute. Know why? I just hacked hundreds (seriously, hundreds) of bananas off 6ft, 7ft, 8ft bunches (etc.) in my backyard. Not fun. Yea, that’s right, I’m whining about my banana windfall. That’s the kind of twisted, selfish, bitter woman I’ve become. It’s all my husband’s fault for mowing the lawn.
Oh, the lawn. Where do I begin? Our lawn is not large, but large enough to have several banana trees, and an epic problem when it comes to vegetation. The problem is, the lawn was once jungle, and now the jungle misses it, and wants it back. We use weed whackers and lawn mowers to keep it at bay, but not very vigilantly. They, and we, are constantly breaking from the effort, so we let it slide as long as possible before shoving the faulty equipment in the car and driving it into town to be fixed by the old man downtown with a huge vendetta against ethanol (you don’t wanna know), and then my husband mows it, hacks down the jungle, and underneath all that foliage, you never know what you’re going to find. This time we found hundreds of bananas and an enormous lizard. This thing was like 3 ft. long, I swear. Speaking of swearing, I did a whole lot of that while hacking the bananas because the process was so tedious, due to my own idiocy. I was cutting them down one at a time, endlessly, until it suddenly dawned on me that bananas are not usually sold individually. Yes, I am a moron. Took ages to realize I could cut them down in bunches, then I did, and it sped things up, but didn’t really improve my mood much.
Jungledad’s been on the volcano for 3 nights, with another 3 to go, and the girls are kicking my ass, and there in the yard, surrounded by bananas, and I had a long and biting internal tantrum. It was mostly along the lines of WILL NO ONE SAVE ME FROM THE BLOODY ISLAND! Why must I live here with the lizards and the mongooses and the crazy, crazy people? I have these moments every once in a while, where I feel like I’m marooned here, like we will never make it out. We kind of are marooned here. When we moved to this island, the economy was fine and dandy and we assumed it would stay that way, and we could have our adventure and leave whenever we choose. Wrong-go Bong-go. There were loads of jobs when we left, now there aren’t any. It sucks. We may be trapped here forever. Yes, yes, I know– boo hoo for me, trapped in a tropical paradise. I know, I know, but I miss seasons, and long drives, close proximity to friends and family, milk costing less than ten bucks a gallon, and about a million other things, ungrateful wretch that I am.
But I’ve thought of a solution. I’m going to weave a boat out jungle leaves, palm trees, and pineapple heads from my backyard; fill it with bananas, twins, a husband with the handy ability to navigate by the stars, a balding cat that has never been the same since getting struck by lightning, several gallons of wine, a giant lizard, my weight in coffee grounds, and 3 years of New Yorker back issues, then sail it back to civilization.