Naomi hates bananas. She hates the look of them, the smell of them, the taste of them. She never buys them, not for herself, not for her family.
One afternoon, Bobby, Naomi’s youngest son is in the kitchen when a monkey climbs through the window holding a banana. The monkey gives the banana to Bobby, then proceeds to wreck the kitchen, ripping open boxes, spilling rice and beans and cereal all over the shelves and floor, scattering pots and pans. Then, just as quickly as it entered, the monkey climbs back out the window and disappears.
A few minutes later, Naomi enters the kitchen and finds the mess, with Bobby standing in the midst of it. Furious, she asks Bobby what happened. He tells her about the monkey. Naomi shakes her head.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she says. “If you’re going to lie, at least be believable.”
“But the monkey gave me this,” Bobby says, and hands the banana to Naomi.
She looks it over, looks at Bobby, then back to the banana. Every instinct she has tells her Bobby created the mess and is lying about it.
But where did he get the banana?