When I was little my older brother and I decided that the zuchini sitting in the fridge would make a pretty good baseball bat.
We used a crumpled up piece of paper as a ball.
My brother was the pitcher and I was first up to bat.
He threw hard.
I swung.
The zuchini snapped in half.
In a moment of sibling comeraderie, we placed the two halves of the zuchini back together in the fridge.
We never said anything and my mother never mentioned anything about the broken zuchini.
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