My father leaves fruit in his wake whenever he visits. He is the fruit king and I am the loyal subject.
"Daddy, how do you peel pomegranates?"
"Well there are many techniques."
"Ok but what do you do?"
"Well I take my shirt off. And then I take my undershirt off."
Later, as we drive past a strip club, I imagine the farmer's daughter striding onto the stage: "For my next routine I will peel a pomegranate!"
My name is Nasreen. I write micro essays, one-liners, and other small things. Most of them were funny at some point, at least to me.