I'm a sucker for word plays—a self-proclaimed master of paronomasia. It is the trait that lead a stranger to initiate a close friendship with me (out of amused annoyance), and later become my husband. So, you see, I owe a lot to my pun-manship. Admittedly, I come by it quite naturally, as my mother and her family take wit to a new level.

Honeydew you love me? —Yes, dear...but we cantaloupe tonight.

I remember making that up in elementary school...and sadly, my mind replays it every time I engage in a melonious activity. Until this past week, no melon nor cucumber had ever set seed inside our house—in deference to Miles' dislike for the quenching fare, I suppose. I have now realized the silliness of this self-imposed ban, and have rectified the situation. Last night, as I ate my cucumber whole, Miles grimaced and turned his head the other way. I returned, in a singsong and very aggravating baby voice, "But look honey! Isn't it cuke!?"

I have fond memories of my mother (speaking for our soulful cat) singing, "Feliiiiiiiines...Nothing more than FELIIIIIIIIINES..."

I can go on the subject of corn forever if you'll lend me an ear.

Yep. Melons and corn and cats: my word-play skill set. I've been trying to come up with a way to lend humor to seafood, but fail to come up with an interesting subject. Miles thinks I should throw one in just for the halibut....who knows, maybe one day.