“Josh is three today! OHHHH...OOOOOOH.”
I looked down at my shoulder and saw Muncho, a little orange
carrot that talked. I was confused. First, I was hearing voices, and now
I could see a carrot sitting on my shoulder. How did it get there? I
picked him up and stared wildly at the carrot, this time with both eyes
open. He grinned and waved his hands at me. He seemed friendly.
“I am Muncho,” he said. “And you’re Josh. It’s nice to meet
you.” I was startled, and I couldn’t move. Muncho started walking
cautiously along my right arm.
“Don’t be scared, I am not here to hurt you!” he said. “I am your
friend and you are my friend. We are friends!”
I remember running to my parents’ room, shouting.
“There is a talking carrot!” I yelled, half boggled, half excited.
Wholly bogcited.
“Oh happy birthday Josh! You’re three,” my mother said.
“Mother! Father! Say hello to my little friend. His name is Muncho
and he is a talking carrot.”
“What little friend?”
“Muncho,” I said. I pointed at Muncho repeatedly, but my mother
looked at me with her weary but inquisitive eyes.
“Where is this friend you are talking about?”
“He is right here.”
“Where?”
I tapped my right shoulder. They both stared at me.
“What does he look like?” Father asked.
“Like a carrot and he can talk.”
They looked at each other, unsure how to react.
“Carrots can’t talk,” my father said.
“I know, but Muncho can,” I insisted.
“Who is Muncho?” asked my mother, not getting it.
“Muncho is the carrot.”
“Muncho is a carrot?” She was looking steadily more and more
alarmed.