I'm sad today. And I am wondering why I can never eat the last banana. I'm staring at my fruit bowl right now, preparing myself to move the most recent last banana to my freezer.
I have a freezer full of last bananas. More than eight. Brown and waiting to be loafed.
What does sadness have to do with last bananas? I don't really know. But I'm sure it's a metaphor for a deep lack of something.
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It's ok. No one likes the last banana.
After all those other fresh bananas, you're simply banana-ed out.
But maybe think of it this way: all those frozen brown bananas are secret potential-bombs, cluttering up your freezer for that day when you decide to unleash their awesome, sweet, banana-y power on unsuspecting friends in, yes, the form of loaves! Yummy, fluffy, slightly burnt and tasty loaves.
They're really super bananas.
Or I am super bananas. One or the other.
a banana kinda looks like a sad mouth. and nothing is sadder than a freezer full of sad mouths...
"What does sadness have to do with last bananas? I don't really know. But I'm sure it's a metaphor for a deep lack of something."
Freud would say.... Penis!
I know, I know.
But Freud never said anything specifically about bananas. I looked it up in my guide-to-Freud. Saw nothing and deleted my last sentence that referenced Freud.
Methinks it's about never being able to completely finish anything more than it is penises... but I'm not "ruling" this theory out.
I'll tell you why it bothers you...well, why it bothers me anyway.
Because whenever I see that last snarbby banana, I want to throw it out..but then I see my mother's disappointed face and I hear her voice saying "Well, why did you buy so many if never eat the fifth one? Why don't you just save it and make some banana bread?". And then I am physically incapable of throwing out that banana.
Then all that banana holds is the unavoidable gag-inducing defrost-and-peel activity.
...but then sometimes once the banana has been frozen some how my mother can't see it any more and weeks later I'm safe to throw out great bucketfuls of icy potassium bombs free from censure.
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