The one where I go coconut shopping and don’t make a bra

If you’re my agent, you shouldn’t read this post. I forbid you to read this post. Shoo. Go away. No Poelles allowed!

Is she gone?

Somebody check and make sure she’s gone.



Do you know how hard it is to buy a brown coconut these days? I’m not kidding. Apparently white coconuts are the new thing. Did you know this? Who even knew there were trends in coconuts? And if you did know, why didn’t you tell me? You could have saved me and the poor produce guy a lot of grief.

Me: “There’s something wrong with these coconuts.”

Produce guy: (Blink. Blink.)

Me: “They’re albinos.”

Produce guy: (Blink. Blink.) “They’re white coconuts.”

Me: “That’s what I said. These coconuts would never survive in the wild. They’d be eaten by predators.”

Produce guy: (Blink. Blink.)

Me: (Abandons humor.) “I need a brown coconut.”

Produce guy: “These are white.”

Me: “I sense we’re not making progress.”

Produce guy: (Shifts uncomfortably.)

Me: “Do you have any brown coconuts? Maybe in the back? Is there a secret stash?”

Produce guy: “We have white coconuts.”

If his plan was to wear me down, it worked. I bought the damn white coconut; although I bought the brownest white coconut they had, which is at best beige.

There is method to this madness.

You see, the first time I met my agent in person, she took me to a bar she frequents conveniently located across the street from her office. I suspect this was a factor in the lease signing. (The only people who can drink writers under the table are agents.) She wanted to order for me. I wanted her to like me, so I let her. What came was a giant freaking coconut filled with rum. Do you have any idea how much rum can fit in a coconut? I’ll tell you how much. Enough so that half an hour later the two of you will stop talking about books and start talking about whale baleen and deviant sexual behavior AND NO ONE WILL THINK THAT’S WEIRD UNTIL THE NEXT DAY.

So in gratitude for the awesome job she did negotiating my new contract, I bought her a coconut. A white one. And I’m shipping it. I’m choosing to tell her it’s a rare albino coconut bred in captivity. Maybe I’ll draw creepy pink eyes on it.