This post is one of a series called Trivial Tragedies. Each installment is a small story of minor heartbreak that has stuck with me from my childhood.

When I was a child, our family bought a coconut from the grocery store. It was a rare and exotic novelty.

We all gathered to try and access the strange and nourishing coconut milk trapped inside the huge hairy stone.

In a time before YouTube, we had to resort to our own ingenuity to open the coconut. We moved the operation out into our garage where we tried a hammer and nails. We tried a drill and screwdriver.

Eventually, we smashed the coconut open and watched as a tiny splash of coconut milk trickled out onto the dirty garage floor.