I bought 48 watermelons. I don't give 12 to my friend Justin and 15 to my cousin Kendra just to ask a room full of exhausted six-year-olds how many I have left. I simply want to be noticed. I get noticed in the grocery store. I see mothers hush their children after they unabashedly ask, "Mommy, why does that man have eight carts filled with watermelons?" and, "Is he sure this is a responsible financial decision for a single-income household just above the poverty line?" I don't mind. It just makes me smile. I get noticed on the freeway. I see Honda Civics push their engines to the limit, sputtering along the road like a racehorse with too many miles to go before he sleeps, just to catch a glimpse at the massive multitude of rotund, green spheres bouncing around in the back seat of my Subaru. Most importantly, I get noticed at home. I see my daughter smiling when I pull into the driveway, excitedly jumping up and down because she gets to help bring each and every melon into the house. I hear my wife exasperatedly sigh, saying that she preferred my obsession with blackberries, because 36,000 of those were easier to fit in the fridge. I don't mind. I know she loves me. The three of us pile our watermelons in front of the windows, hiding from the world. Now, I sit amongst my pillars of fruitery as my wife and daughter sit with me. For once, I am content to be unnoticed, as long as we are unnoticed together.