I have just spent the last several days defending my right to piss in a public washroom to an absolute thundering moron. Needless to say, this has a way of tiring me out.
So with your generous indulgence, dear readers, I would like to try to exorcise this frustration, by means of blogging about something of which I am inordinately fond. Namely: tomatoes.
I’ve always been a fan of tomatoes and their derived products for as long as I can remember. Indeed, I would often insist that my family order pizzas with extra tomato sauce when I was a child, though they never acquiesced, and I was (for a time) quite famous for my “over”-indulgence in ketchup. Even to this day, the scent or sight of tomato sauce can make me hungrier faster than anything else. This was always much to my mother’s annoyance, as she hated tomatoes. Nevertheless, when I was five or six years old, she was persuaded to placate me by growing a series of tomato plants in her vegetable garden.
I would watch them every day, eagerly awaiting their development into those glorious red orbs of which I was so fond. And for a time, this was quite satisfactory; they started as buds, and then they grew to the size of grapes, and then…they stopped growing.
My mother, reading the package from which the seeds had originated, found that she had accidentally purchased cherry tomato seeds, rather than normal sized ones. This served as a terrible disappointment to me…until I actually tried eating one.
Cherry tomatoes are amazing. I love the way that they explode in your mouth, with little pockets of tomato-y goodness.
Anyways, the moral of the story is: when life is getting you down, just remember that cherry tomatoes exist.