I wasn’t looking for anything intense when it happened. I was just doing my usual routine—scrolling through Reddit while reheating leftover noodles—and then out of nowhere, this bizarre image appeared on my feed. It was a watermelon, but not a regular, juicy, summer-refreshing kind of watermelon. This one had foam—yes, frothy white stuff—leaking out of it like someone had filled it with shaving cream. I honestly thought it was a prank or some kind of weird photo edit. Naturally, I showed it to my husband, and he was just as disturbed as I was.

We both sat there, trying to figure out what in the world was going on. The caption said something like, “We left our watermelon from Costco on the counter and it started foaming. Google said it might explode. So we bagged it and put it in the outdoor bin. Next morning it blew up. Now there are maggots.” And just like that, I was side-eying my own watermelon sitting on the kitchen counter, convinced it might be seconds away from turning into a fruit-based landmine. Apparently, this is a real thing that can happen, and I had no clue. Turns out, watermelons can ferment from the inside. When they sit out too long in a warm spot or if they’re already bruised, bacteria can sneak in.

Since watermelons are packed with sugar, those bacteria get to work turning it into gas, and the gas builds pressure inside the fruit. Eventually, if that pressure keeps building, it can explode. And before it gets to that point, one tell-tale sign is foaming. Yes, foaming. From a watermelon. I couldn’t believe this was something we have to worry about, but here we are. I haven’t had it happen to me personally—yet—but after reading that post, I now have a mental playbook for exactly what to do if it ever does. If your watermelon starts foaming, don’t even consider trying to salvage it. This isn’t a situation where you can just cut around the bad part like you’re on a cooking show. That fruit is done. It’s over. It has crossed into dangerous territory. Grab a thick garbage bag, preferably something strong enough to handle radioactive waste, and bag that melon up like it’s contagious. Handle it gently, because the last thing you want is a full-blown explosion in your kitchen. Then take it outside and dispose of it.

Walk away from it, and also let go emotionally. That watermelon is no longer your friend. And yes, this whole thing has turned me into a paranoid fruit buyer. I went to the grocery store yesterday and inspected watermelons more thoroughly than I’ve ever inspected anything in my life. I tapped, I sniffed, I looked for bruises, and I stared at one so intensely that a stranger asked if I was okay. I now follow a strict checklist. No soft spots—if it feels squishy like a stress ball, that’s a hard pass. No weird markings or bruises—don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s just “natural.” The minute I bring it home, it goes straight into the fridge. I don’t care if it looks picturesque on the kitchen counter—it’s not worth the risk.

And I don’t wait days to eat it anymore either. Once it’s in my house, the countdown begins. Also, fun fact: dropping your watermelon, even a little, can cause internal bruising you can’t see, and that makes it more vulnerable to bacterial invasion. So now, I carry watermelons like they’re newborn babies made of jello and betrayal. After that Reddit post, I checked the one in my fridge like I was approaching a ticking time bomb. I gave it a gentle pat and whispered, “We good?” It was cold, uncracked, and didn’t smell weird. But that didn’t stop me from imagining it blowing up at 3 a.m. and my cat walking through the carnage like a crime scene investigator. So yes, this is who I am now—a person who fears melons. Thanks, internet. But if there’s one lesson here, it’s this: your produce should never bubble or hiss or foam. And if it does, don’t hesitate. Toss it, don’t taste it. Because fruit shouldn’t explode. And yet, somehow, here we are.