Watermelon of light year zero and eclipse of proximity

The first heat arrives and you're very excited to buy peaches, watermelon, cherries. But where you live, it's not their season yet. The shops, however, know that you don't know when their season is, and if you vaguely seem to remember, you don't care. Then, they fill the shelves with watermelons, peaches, cherries at a ransom price. You bite the hook and buy them. They are fruits from Africa or America, harvested green so they can spend a month on a ship. They have sugar, look, and little else. And then, when the season for local fruit finally arrives, you're already bored of eating fruit from elsewhere, and on top of that, the local fruit is more expensive.

The same happens with the eclipse. They start distributing glasses five months before the event. They talk to you about it left and right. They create the danger for you (you could go blind) and they create the solution to the danger they created (protect yourself). They make you interactive maps that suggest where to go – if you don't have plans, you're a wretch and a llucer (which is the word that defines the cod-like face you get when they consider you a looser)–. When you already have a place to go, they tell you not to go, not to be irresponsible, that there won't be room. First, go; then, don't go; if you go, wear glasses or, if not, go blind; and don't put glasses on pets, they aren't as stupid as you and won't look at the Sun. When you've made the watermelon (local) tupperware and you're ready to leave, you're already fed up with the eclipse and with the friends and family you have to watch it with (all completely stressed), and you almost wish that the inhabitants of the Mediterranean (being how we are) had all massively forgotten their glasses, we look at the Sun anyway (being how we are) and we all end up with melted retinas.