In the beginning, long before peelers and cutting boards, millions of years before the dinosaurs began the tedious process of converting themselves into overpriced gasoline and fossils, all of the living things that were to exist, were just lumps of indistinguishable protoplasm. Each of these lumps had within its makeup a single strand of DNA and a switch. Not like the one on the wall that your youngest keeps leaving on when he uses the bathroom in the middle of the night, but more of an ethereal one, a crick in the old Watson of nucleic bonds. And just like picking door number one, door number two, or door number three, once that switch was thrown, there was no way to change what was to become of that particular lump of protoplasm. The DNA sequence for that veggie would be set for all time.

How do I know this to be true? I was there, well genetically at least. I'm a carrot and as all plants are endowed with perfect, permanent, past memory, the day the vegetables selected their characteristics is as clear to me now as though I was together with all those lumps, all of those millions and billions of years ago.

Because it was still so close to the original Big Bang, the one that formed what we now know as the universe, the singular consciousness created in the beginning was still being shared within all the protoplasmic lumps that were sitting, standing, or laying around trying to decide if it was better to have arms versus fins or if green was a more pleasing color than brown. Communication was instant and soundless, yet spoken as though the lumps had already formed tongues.

The big four of the salad world - Lettuce, Tomato, Celery, and Carrot - had gathered, with Lettuce for obvious reasons, at the head of the table. The lesser fruits and vegetables, including all of those only found in the ethnic sections of the supermarket or sold out of donkey carts in neighborhoods where fresh water comes only from the sky, had already been heard and their characteristics forever sealed with the throwing of that one-time-only genetic switch. There had been some heated debates over several issues - the Vidalia Onion, for example, not quite pleased with the choices made by the Bermuda, had swapped flavor profiles at the last moment with Crabapple. Cabbage, sensing the future need for something called sauerkraut and an even stranger concept that had something to do with heated dogs, had traded all of its color with Lettuce in exchange for thick leaves.

Carrot and Celery had been battling for what seemed like hours, but since Rolex was a long ways off in the future, it might have been years or perhaps just a few milliseconds. Regardless, Lettuce had grown weary of their bickering.

"Enough already! You two are giving me a massive headache," Lettuce moaned, "and aspirin is several millennia down the road."

"Mon, I gave up dat beautiful orange shine for dis mundane, pale green. Ain't nobody gonna want chew on someting dis weak," argued Celery. "Mi look like mi sick."

"Do you want to trade back for growing in the dirt, you surface stud? Who's going to see me in full color until the very last moments of my life? And it's not that pale a green. You want pale? Cabbage is pale. You've got green, my friend." Carrot huffed in reply. "You wanted to grow in the sun. It was an even exchange. No one is going to want a green vegetable that grows in the dirt. Look at Potato or Turnip, a bunch of what? Lumps in the ground, that's what. Covered with dirt until they get unceremoniously yanked free. Of course, who's going to eat me all dirty and brown? Celery, you simply get a shower and a rubdown with a soft paper towel. Me? A hard scrubbing with a stiff brush. That's what you've avoided by giving me the color."

Tomato interrupted Carrot's rant. "So grow on a vine and stop complaining already. This is taking way too long, let's get finished."

"Dis comin' from a fruit that's gone spend most its life in da can or fifty-seven different varieties of ketchup bottle," muttered Celery.

"Look," said Carrot, "we're down to hard or soft. We each get one or the other. I think that since you've got me in the dirt, I want to be hard, really hard, and all the time. It means I'll last longer, even cold, and with a dab of ranch dressing, just about anyone will still eat me."

Celery said nothing. Lettuce, about to render a decision, paused to give Celery a few moments to ponder the choice. Tomato was imagining life as a condiment.

Now, what Carrot knew and what the others didn't, was that throughout the animal kingdom, the buzzword was "erection." Carrot had no idea why it was such a big deal or for that matter what it actually was, but there had been some heated battles between the animals for the various sizes and shapes of something called an erection. There had even been some serious genetic trading going on and not all the animals were pleased with the outcome. Horse and Whale seemed to be terribly mismatched, whereas Snake considered the whole issue to be quite humorous.

Carrot had taken its shape in the first round of negotiations with Celery, giving Celery the long, deep groove that runs along the sweetest part of its body. The shape also gave Celery the ability to be used multiple times for the same bowl of crab dip when there were no real spoons available. Carrot's shape meant peeling and cutting for every use. The worst of it, having its tip chopped off and never used, but it was all worth it to get a unique and glorious color such as orange.

However, with tenderness now on table, Carrot was no longer willing to compromise. Carrot knew it took a tough, hard, erect vegetable to outlast all the others and that was the last card to be played. If the animals valued this erection thing so much, so should at least one member of the plant kingdom.

"This is simple, even the village idiot can understand. Look, you've got the groove, I've got nothing but smooth, round skin," Carrot explained, "Think about it. You're dipped into a cool, creamy dressing, casually swirled around, then you're lifted to someone's lips where their tongue gently licks your channel dry before they do it again, over and over and over until all the dressing is gone and then, wait for it, you get eaten! Swallowed. Gulp. Ahhh." Carrot paused for effect. "But me? Bang! Into the dip, into the mouth, crunch and it's all over. Wham, bang, down the hatch. Where's the satisfaction in that?"

"But you'll never wilt, mon! You'll be hard long after mi been tossed aside, never eaten, and finally, mashed up and out with the trash. You wan talk about disgrace? Try dat." Celery countered.

"A short, but happy existence," mused Carrot.

Celery seemed to be on the verge of conceding the point, but instead offered one final argument, "You know dat wit dat kind hardness, you never gonna jus gracefully wilt away."

"So? That's the point."

"So, if no one eat you, it mean a long life, months perhaps, where dat erection gonna eventually shrivel into a flaccid lump of matter from lack of use." Celery's thoughts came fast at the group, "You'll be sittin' deep inside someting that will be called a "fridge" and there won't be no dip. No ranch dressing, only de oil and de vinegar. You'll be too tough for a salad, mon. Weeks pass. Months. And you'll still be in de fridge. But now, your erection will be shrinking, moisture will evaporate, you'll begin to shrivel. Down, down, down to a grotesque lump of decayed vegetation. Sadness. Madness. De end."

"Ugh," said Tomato.

"Yuck," agreed Lettuce.

Carrot waited for more from Celery and, when none came, said this to the three of them, "You have much to learn, my friends. Consider your fate in this light. If you're going to assign value to the stages of your life, it means that you will eventually value one part of your life more than the others. Why? Isn't your entire life to be valued equally from beginning to end? If the life of a carrot is to end in shrivel, shouldn't it be celebrated with the same passion as all the time that came before it? Celery, you look at your wilted ending with disdain and sadness. You are here for a reason, a purpose. You will have fulfilled that purpose and should look at the wilting as the completion of your natural cycle. You'll be back, you already know that, so why put a damper on your fate?"

There was silence around the table and for what was certainly a long time, nothing happened. Finally, Lettuce spoke, "We are running out of time. If the decision is not made this instant, it will be made for us."

Celery sighed, "I'd be a stunner with an erection and a groove, but you're right."

"Of course I am," said Carrot, "you knew that right from the beginning didn't you?"

"Perhaps," whispered Celery, "but you'll never know for sure." And with that, Celery toggled its genetic switch.

Lettuce went next without another word and Tomato was about to follow suit when Carrot shouted, "Wait!"

"What?" asked Tomato.

Carrot paused for a moment before committing its DNA to eternity, considering the implications of its next action and the power of decision it still held. Here was the last chance for glory. Carrot asked, "I'm gonna be kind of dry. Anything I can trade you for the juice?"