This morning in the pool I was talking with a friend as we kicked alongside each other.
"My boyfriend," I said, "grew a tomato with a penis." She looked at me incredulously. "Honestly," she replied. "Anyone else would see a nose, and you see a penis."
Maybe. But I'm serious, here.
My boyfriend is a successful gardener. He is also a fabulous cook, and he assured me, that from the bounty of his garden, we would feast royally all summer. We were having a discussion in early Spring about how many tomato plants to buy. I wanted half a dozen. He decided on two. "You have no idea how many tomatoes they will produce," he said. He also got a bell pepper plant, some basil and oregano. I was in heaven, already tasting the Caprese in my mind, smelling the simmering Bolongnese sauce.
So, he planted, and fussed, and watered, and weeded, and worried. I waited, plate in hand. It took months. Finally- some tomatoes emerged. Not nearly the bounty I had been expecting, however. Just a few. This bothered him; why was it the tomatoes weren't growing as they should? Why did we not have a bushel full? I'm not going to say which one of us wanted to buy more plants. I'll just say, it's the same person who would have killed even the two he planted. Black-thumbed-food-sluts can't be choosers. That in mind, I am grateful for the ones we got. However, one of them had a little extra growth that grew along with it.
What you call it is a matter of semantics.
Ultimately, the tomato with a penis came to a bad end. We ate him. He was delicious.
"My boyfriend," I said, "grew a tomato with a penis." She looked at me incredulously. "Honestly," she replied. "Anyone else would see a nose, and you see a penis."
Maybe. But I'm serious, here.
My boyfriend is a successful gardener. He is also a fabulous cook, and he assured me, that from the bounty of his garden, we would feast royally all summer. We were having a discussion in early Spring about how many tomato plants to buy. I wanted half a dozen. He decided on two. "You have no idea how many tomatoes they will produce," he said. He also got a bell pepper plant, some basil and oregano. I was in heaven, already tasting the Caprese in my mind, smelling the simmering Bolongnese sauce.
So, he planted, and fussed, and watered, and weeded, and worried. I waited, plate in hand. It took months. Finally- some tomatoes emerged. Not nearly the bounty I had been expecting, however. Just a few. This bothered him; why was it the tomatoes weren't growing as they should? Why did we not have a bushel full? I'm not going to say which one of us wanted to buy more plants. I'll just say, it's the same person who would have killed even the two he planted. Black-thumbed-food-sluts can't be choosers. That in mind, I am grateful for the ones we got. However, one of them had a little extra growth that grew along with it.
What you call it is a matter of semantics.
Ultimately, the tomato with a penis came to a bad end. We ate him. He was delicious.
No comments:
Post a Comment