Adventures with exploding kiwis

There's no place like home.

Which is where Little Blue Duck was when she became an unsuspecting participant in a strange, strange adventure that may just test the limits of your imagination and disbelief.

It all begins with an apron.

When she's at home, Little Blue Duck enjoys not only the comfort of a real sewing machine, but also all the bittywits and do-dads required to making things with it: scissors, measuring tape (not from Ikea!), boxes of pins and so on. So although her sewing skills are minimal and inferior compared to those of her Momma Duck's, she often attempts to sew things anyway, usually with her beloved mother-sewing-master's help, because life is just more fun in samauri pants.

Which is why she was running around with a box of pins to make an apron with. Which is why she put the box on the kitchen table. Which does not explain the clear, sticky liquid that she found on the bottom of aforementioned box when she picked it up again some time later. She had not seen any evidence of spilled liquid on the table, and this liquid smelled decidedly alcoholic, and there had certainly been no alcoholic liquid spilled on the table - especially as putrid-smelling as this.

She was too tired at that point to be bothered with solving mysteries, and decided to simply clean the pin case and be done with it. What she didn't realize was that the box was not in fact a very well-sealed one, and when she turned it over to rinse it off in the kitchen sink, the lid suddenly came off, spewing pins all over the sink. A few rattled ominously down the drain. Fortunately she was later able to retrieve most of them with the help of a rather large magnet, but that is another story.

The next day, she decided that enough was enough and cleaned the kitchen table. Oddly enough, she found no sticky liquid on the table. Had the putrid syrup been beamed from some other kitchen table by malicious mad scientists of the future? That was when she decided to put the fruit sitting out - a Christmas orange and a kiwi - back into a fruit bowl. The kiwi, the texture of the kiwi - she knew at once something was wrong. It had the internal consistancy of Sparkling Fruit Jello - like a fruity, all-natural stress ball. And a quick smell test verified the sweet smell of fermentation. But it was not until she turned it over that she saw that it had actually split from end to end, and had probably been leaking home-brew fruit wine all over the table for whoeverknowshowlong, unsuspected by the residents of the household, for whom it looked like a mere innocent piece of fuzzy edibility.

Yes, for making sparkling fruit wine on a kitchen table, there really is no place like home.