The Cranberry Cruise
Once upon a particularly peculiar time, there lived a man named Cranky Charlie in the quirky town of Charleston, California, tucked within the colorful Crenshaw neighborhood. Now, Charlie wasn’t your average cranky fellow—no, his crankiness had a theme. Everything in his life, from his wife Cathy, to his kids Chase and Chelsey, down to his cocker spaniel Chuck, began with the letter C. Coincidence? Perhaps. Crippling? Absolutely—for poor Charlie.
But there was one exception to his curmudgeonly ways: Thanksgiving.
It was the one day a year Cranky Charlie cracked a smile—and it was always for one reason: Cranberries.
From Cranberry soup to Cranberry cornbread, from Cranberry juice to Cranberry jam, Cathy made it all to appease his oddly specific culinary cravings. Charlie would gobble everything up with glee and then plop down into his creaky, creepy chair to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
One fine Thanksgiving afternoon, as he licked the last bit of Cranberry glaze from his chin, a booming commercial interrupted his peaceful parade moment:
“Wanna sail the seas in style? Then step aboard the legendary Cranberry Cruise—where everything is red, ripe, and delicious! Enter at your local CVS or call 1-800-CRANBERRY now. You could be our lucky VIP guest!”
Cranky Charlie nearly flipped out of his chair, startling poor Chuck, who whimpered and dove under the table.
“CATHY! Pack my cranberry heels—I’m going to win that cruise!” he shouted, dialing the number with shaky fingers. Busy signal. Again. And again. His crankiness multiplied by the second.
Just as he was about to throw the phone across the room, a calm voice answered.
“Congratulations, Charlie! You’re our grand prize winner! Be at the corner of Charming and Cherry in ten minutes to begin your Cranberry Cruise of a lifetime.”
Charlie shrieked in delight. Cathy, meanwhile, had already packed his bag, hailed a cab, and handed him his cranberry-tinted sunglasses. With a sly kiss on his cheek, she whispered, “C-ya later.”
Frankly, the family wasn’t too upset. They were secretly thrilled to get a break from cranberry casseroles, cranberry conversations, and Cranky Charlie in general.
“Crank it up, buddy, I got a cranberry dream to catch!” Charlie barked at the cab driver.
The driver raced through the streets, screeching to a halt right at a glowing sign that read:
“CRUISE ENTRANCE – DROP HIM HERE.”
Television crews from CBS were already there, lights flashing, cameras rolling. Charlie beamed. He had finally arrived.
And oh, what a dream it was!
The ship was a floating cranberry utopia. From the cranberry-colored carpets to the cranberry-scented drapes, every inch of the vessel screamed cranberry chic. Even the glass of welcome champagne had a tart cranberry twist.
His cabin? Cranberry-themed from floor to ceiling. The bed was shaped like a cranberry, the pillows were embroidered with cranberry vines, and the room service menu offered nothing but dishes drenched in cranberry bliss.
“Cranberry curry chicken? Don’t mind if I do!” he declared.
“Cranberry coconuts? Bring me three!”
The cruise sailed through the sunny Caribbean. Charlie was in paradise. He even picked up the local dialect: Cranglish—a cheerful mix of Caribbean rhythm and cranberry references.
“Crantastic!” he shouted at every meal.
One evening, he stood at the ship’s railing, looking out at the deep red sea beneath the cranberry sunset.
“All my dreams have come true!” he sighed.
But just as he was about to leap joyfully into what he believed was a cranberry-scented ocean… a loud bang rang out.
“CHARLIE! GET OFF THE FLOOR, YOU’RE SCARING THE DOG!”
Charlie blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim glow of the television. There he was—still in his creepy chair, Chuck whining beside him, and Cathy waving a dish towel in one hand.
The cranberry cruise?
Just a dream.
Moral of the Story:
Even the crankiest of us have sweet dreams—but sometimes, fantasy is best left in dreamland… especially when cranberries are involved.
