A watermelon shark sculpture

I have a very specific skill-set. A talent for tireless clipart research. The endurance to sing the same line from a song repetitively for hours. An innate ability to tie any lesson plan to dachshunds (this skill happily complements my propensity for clipart inclusion).  I have an extraordinary gift for extorting 6th graders resulting in a packed-with-Pepsi faculty fridge. But it is when I am faced with an incredulous attitude of "Can-Amy-get-it-done?" doubt that I really shine.  Can Amy actually procure a single-prop plane for an Amelia Earhart lesson? Of course she can. Is Amy able to lease a llama (and a camel) to teach students about geography? Slap on your sombrero and turn on the video camera. You need a human-sized donkey suit? Call Amy. Only an act of nature or the resilient will of Brad Mosiman can interfere with my singular focus to get the job done. It was Brad Mosiman who prevented a live donkey from walking down the center aisle during a church service...kill-joy (hence, the human-sized donkey suit) and it was prevailing winds that prevented me from dropping thousands of small stuffed whales from a hot air balloon for what would have been the most remarkable fundraising event EVER...loosely named "The hail of whales."

I falter, however, when the attitude of "Can-Amy-get it-done?" shifts to "Of-course-Amy-can-do-it." I am immediately beset with self-doubt and uncertainty the moment I encounter someone who exhibits an unshakable trust in my abilities. I love to prove people wrong. I am an incompetent baboon (my apologies to competent baboons) when I attempt to live up to other people's expectations. The idea of letting someone down who believes in me is a terrifying prospect.

"Amy," my friend Deb asked (more like ordered), "I have a favor."  Her daughter Evie (renamed Levelyn, Levy, and Ela-van based on my varying states of fatigue or inebriation) graduated this year and the party is Saturday. Apparently, it is imperative to have a fruit sculpture at this event or all of those years learning where to appropriately place commas would have been for naught.  But who...who do we know...who would be able to delicately chisel a lifelike watermelon shark to represent Evie's scholastic achievement?  Naturally, my name came immediately to mind.  I was unceremoniously handed the Taste of Home article detailing how to accomplish this so-called simple task and then Deb launched into a stream of modifications which included replacing cantaloupe with in-season cherries accompanied by the required use of a complicated de-pitting device. Fearful that I wouldn't be able to locate the pineapple preserves in my local grocery store, Deb drew me a map after laughing hysterically when her husband innocently asked if I "put up" my own jams and jellies. While I was wondering where he thought I put them, Deb further insulted my homemaking abilities by telling him that my successfully opening a jar of Smuckers was as close as I was going to get to making marmalade.

http://www.tasteofhome.com/Recipes/Watermelon-Shark

Apparently, all of Evie's hopes and dreams center on the accurate depiction of this fruit-filled shark sculpture. My stomach is in knots as the weight of this watermelon-sized responsibility rests on my slightly-atrophied shoulders. Despite my trepidation, I will step up to the plate (or platter) and make this melon mine.  I am determined to de-pit. I will wield my melon-baller (for the first time) with sacrificial sincerity. I will rise to this occasion, asking not what a melon-baller is for, but what a melon-baller can do (my apologies to JFK).  Amy Mosiman will fulfill this favor of her friend. Amy Mosiman will do what needs to be done, not for the a-ha but for the uh-huh. Just when you thought it was safe to eat a fruit salad, Amy Mosiman makes a man-eating melon.