In grade school I followed the kids at lunch to the little confectionary across the street that served hamburgers fresh off the grill for a dime. They were yummy. But when I saw kids with "poms" for recess, I figured I'd spend my dime on one of those freaky fruits.
I hated opening them, and despised digging out the seeds. It seemed like too much work in order to suck the too-tangy juice out of a tiny seed. I tried them again and again. I even tried them in high school, and as an adult, but pomegranates and I never were a good match. I love pink grapefruit and green olives, so it wasn't the tang; it was the tediousness.
I'm not talking caramel apples, especially yummy Merb's Bionic apples dipped in a mixture of whipped cream and caramel, then rolled in nuts. The ones coated in chocolate after the caramel dip were my dream-come-true-fruit.
It seems not one of our knives was ever sharp enough to penetrate the flesh of our large,
thick-skinned pumpkins. I fought a valiant battle every year and ended up with scars to prove it. Yanking the slimy guts, separating the seeds, washing and baking them...so little reward for so much work. Allowing kids to participate (my own and my students) was memorable, messy, and made me crazy when I lifted the lids and revealed mold growing a day later in my warm classroom.
I read a fun story every year about a mouse family that discovered a Jack-o-lantern and made it their home. Magazine articles claimed birds and squirrels would devour them as the weather grew colder. Nothing ate or inhabited our porch sitter. It sat there until it rotted and folded into itself. Then, I had to pitch old Oohey Gooey in the trash.