Once upon a modern time, in a suburb just past the edge of common sense, a well-meaning group of friends threw a surprise party for a man named Eli Everafter—who had the uncanny ability to accept life’s curveballs like they were confetti.
He smiled graciously as he unwrapped his gifts: box after box of lemons.
“Full of vitamin C!” said one friend.
“They’re organic!” said another.
“It’s symbolic,” added a third. “You know—make lemonade!”
Eli nodded thoughtfully, packed the lemons into a reusable tote bag, and excused himself with the polite calm of someone who’d just received too much advice in citrus form.
He wandered down a dusty lane until he came across a crooked sign that read:
“Watermelons & Lemonade – No Refunds. No Complaints.”
Behind the stand stood a sun-hatted farmer named Miles McGrath, a watermelon farmer with a lemonade stand.
Eli raised his tote. “Lemons. Lots of ’em. Any interest?”
Miles eyed the bag, then him, then the horizon. “Depends. Are they just lemons, or do they come with backstory?”
“Mostly disappointment," Eli said. “But well-packaged.”
He grinned. “That’ll do.”
With a firm handshake and no small sense of satisfaction, they made the trade. He walked away with a giant, juicy watermelon—cooler than anything life had handed him in a while.
“When life gives you lemons, find a watermelon farmer with a lemonade stand.”