Avocado love

Scientists have not been able to catch avocado trees in the act of having sex, according to a Dallas Morning News report. They’ve tried all sorts of tricks, including sneaking into avocado groves at night disguised as pomegranates.

No dice. Avocados are incredibly discreet, and they don’t kiss and tell.

Fruit trees reproduce with the help of bees. Since male trees are not very good at putting the moves on females, bees help things along by carrying pollen from one tree to another.

But bees apparently don’t have much use for avocados. Which raises the question, how do avocados, umm, do it?

It’s a conundrum wrapped in a mystery. Scientists are puzzled. And scientists don’t like being puzzled.

Imagine your average rocket scientist speaking to a classroom full of second graders. He’s just explained Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle and String Theory when some snot-nosed little know-it-all raises his hand and asks, “Mr. Scientist, where do avocados come from?”

“We think they come from the Avocado Fairy, kid,” he grumbles. “Next question.”

It’s tough getting laughed at by second graders.

I love avocados and I really don’t care how they manage to have little avocado babies; I’m just glad they’ve figured it out.

I think I ate my first avocado in Mexico City, which is also where I discovered the joy of guacamole. Like chocolate, guacamole should be its own food group, with a minimum adult daily requirement for good health. If there’s guacamole in the room, I can become ugly, especially if my place at the guacamole bowl is threatened.

Anyway, back to avocado romance. With all the sex on TV, I’m glad to hear that avocados don’t flaunt their sexuality in public like Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears. The avocado is outwardly a modest and reserved little fruit. But once the sun goes down and the scientists have left the orchards, the humble avocado turns into one hot little tomato.

Photo credit: WhatsCookingAmerica.net