Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

I'm not sure exactly why I was drawn to the coconut. Perhaps my subconscious pulled me toward the tropical and exotic; perhaps it reminded me of the wonderful cruise vacation I had with my husband last October; perhaps it was simply the embodiment of the deserted island I often long to wake up and find myself on. Who knows. But there it was, my coconut.

As it turns out, my coconut was full of surprises. Being the good Weight Watcher that I am, the first thing I did, was haul my little coconut off to the computer, pull up the WW website, and check out the points values associated with a coconut. I think I must have bruised my chin when my jaw dropped and hit the hairy sphere sitting in my lap. For a cup of raw coconut—7 points; for a cup of coconut milk—15 POINTS! What on earth!

My burgeoning understanding of my MIS-understanding of coconuts was only just begun. You see, I had overlooked the fact that I was dealing with a cocoNUT. Here I'd been thinking along the lines of apple, banana, orange, kiwi, coconut; when I should have been thinking almond, pecan, walnut, hazelnut, coconut. Had my thought processes followed these strains of logic, I would have had no problem with conclusions that resolved themselves thus. “I have purchased a coconut; hence, the high content of calories, fat, and protein; hence, the high point value; hence, the impenetrability of the armored shell.

Yes, getting into my coconut was the next surprise. I placed the coconut onto my cutting board, and still being caught up in my incorrect thinking, selected a knife that would have been equal, perhaps, to a canteloupe. The knife bounced off my coconut in a situation comparable to a bullet and Kevlar. Not willing to be bested by a fruit, and not yet understanding that I was not the only NUT present, I upgraded to a butcher knife.

After a couple of minutes, I feared the noise from the battle would wake my sleeping children, so the coconut and I took it outside. I can only imagine what my vigilant neighbors thought when I came out the door holding a fuzzy head-sized object in one hand and a LARGE knife in the other. After another couple of futile minutes wielding the butcher knife, I revised my approach. Feeling a bit like Robinson Crusoe, I raised the coconut over my head and began to knock it with all my might against the corner of my cement steps. This approach proved effective, although it is important to note, that the step broke before the coconut did.

So how did it all end? Well, I didn't have to worry about the coconut milk; there was none in this particular coconut. As for eating an entire cup of the sweet meat, my jaw gave out after about a quarter cup, so at approximately 2 points, I didn't really break the bank. Perhaps most distressing of all however, was the realization that came just before sleep that night. After all that work, coconut wasn't even a new food for me! I'd had it out of a bag many times. Duh!

Well I can tell you, I'll be eating coconut out of the bag from now on, and maybe, if I can get up my courage to face the produce department again, I'll give the new-food challenge another try.