There is nothing as tranquil as sitting under a palm tree, much to the consternation of my husband. Ever since I’ve known him, he has a fear of getting hit in the head with a coconut or, depending on the season, an icicle. I’ve seen him zig-zag through a bunch of palm trees like a football player dashing across the field for a touchdown.
This may stem from him growing up in New York where he witnessed people getting hit in the head with all sorts of objects, not one of them being a coconut. Here are a few highlights of the many things that my husband has seen while living in Brooklyn: person stabbed in head with screwdriver, cracked in the teeth with a wrench, hit in knee/skull with baseball bat, pummeled repeatedly with city garbage pail, and the piece de resistance of this collection, someone voluntarily being tasered for $50.
So when a ten pound coconut landed ten feet from my head and made a crater size indentation in the sand, it didn’t take long for him to say “I told you so.”
Apparently, I should always listen to my husband when it comes to getting bonked in the head with things.