I’m not a fan of tomatoes. Diced or pureed into an unrecognizable form, they make a nice base for soups, stews and sauces. But I buy fresh tomatoes only rarely to save my daily salad routine from utter boredom.
Cruising past the ‘mater bin last week, this comical little fellow caught my eye. Perched precariously at the edge of the bin, his anomaly separating him from the crowd of look-alikes, he leered at me.
Was that a dare? It certainly wasn’t a plea. Perhaps it was sodality? Why had no one else snatched up this masterpiece of the vegetable world? I just had to fondle him, and once fondled, it was my duty to take him home with me.
At the checkout stand my companion elicited ewws and ahhs at his unique beauty. At home he reigned from his throne until my knife sliced his lower half, and slowly worked towards his sparse but stylish thatch of whiz-bang hair.