Friday, 28 October 2016

For the Love of Tomatoes

  I love the summer with all the fresh vegetables, straight out of our garden. I normally have luck growing tomatoes and zucchini. I plant zucchini seeds and watch like a kid for the sprout to shoot up out of the ground. I buy tomato plants and put them into the garden.
  By mid summer, I'm in the garden, picking and eating my harvest, With more tomatoes than my tummy can handle at once, I picked the ripened vegetables and put them into a storage container for future use. 
  Hungry and ready for lunch, I placed the container on the counter, planning to have toast tomato sandwiches. Even the small but sweet and flavourful cherry tomatoes work well in a sandwich. 
Hubby stepped up to the counter to give me a hand with the meal.
  I happened to notice him grab a tomato with this thumb, forefinger and middle finger, look at it. It obviously did not pass his eagle eye scrutiny. I don't have issues with that. Our garden is organic. Some things look rather 'used' and need tossed into the 'green bin' Our bin to dispose of food wast to avoid using the actual garbage.

  He tossed that tomato back into the container. Before I realized what he was doing,
he took the new tomato in his hand and raised it toward the good container, attempting to toss a second small tomato back. I found my voice.
  "Don't you dare put those back in there. Pitch them out," I lectured.
He chuckled. One of those, 'busted' chuckles.
  "You bugger," I cursed. "You were going to to put that back in."
  "I want to pick out good ones."
  I turned my head slightly and glared at him. I didn't say a word, but my glare spoke volumes. He unsuccessfully fought his grin.
  "Once you put it back with the rest of the tomatoes, you'll have to hunt to find it again. How many times to do want to handle the rotten ones?"
  "You're right," he admitted, giving in rather easily.  

  Not at all pleased, I was relentless. "You're not at the grocery store. You can't leave it there for someone else to find it. For someone else to get rid of it."
I watch him tilt his head sideway, and then wiggle it back and forth as he scrunched his nose. The signal for 'Blah blah blah.'
  "Agh," I groaned. Men. Then I giggled. "Where did I find you? Why did I marry you? What was I thinking?"
  "The grocery store," he reminded me.
  Yes. Although we knew each other as social acquaintances, the first time he asked me out was in a grocery store. It was April and I was shopping for tomatoes of all things.