I can't see pumpkins without remembering when I was recovering from the runaway car accident caused when I stopped to pickup a pumpkin from the garden.
I was telling the PT in the nursing home/rehab center how it happened:
"So I wanted to get a pumpkin for the front porch-" I began, and she burst out laughing.
"PUMPkin," she chortled. "Pump-kin. You ain't from here, are you?"
Curses! I'd learned to say tater for potato and mater for tomato and baccer for tobacco, but the local pronunciation punkin hadn't quite sunk in.
No matter. The therapist treated me very well, despite my status as a foreigner, excuse me, furriner.
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