Just then, my butler comes in.
“Uh, sir, Persephone is in your garden.”
You are sooooooo getting a worse punishment for that one, brotha, I think.
Demeter stalks out stiffly.
“Uh…does she know where she’s going?” asks Zeus.
“Well, if she’s the goddess of the harvests, I would assume so,” I reply frostily as I leave, too, “You might consider getting to know women before you share your couch with them.”
Luckily, I know a shortcut, so I find Persephone alone, fingering a ripe pomegranate on the tree (after I got home, I planted it 4 years before).
“My mom’s here,” she says morosely.
“Yes.”
“She wants me to leave.”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t want to.”
HA! So there Demeter! “Yes.”
“What do I do?”
“I…really don’t know. I’m sorry,” I say sincerely.
Then the lightbulb turns on.
“Eat it!” I say, ripping off the pomegranate and holding it out to her. She takes out her knife and cuts it open, then eats 3 seeds. Unfortunately, then her mother arrives (beauty queen? no. drama queen? definitely).
“Persey!” she squeals.