My Tomato

This is an old story. It pre-dates Sam.

I was little- about three years old. Mom and I were growing stuff in the backyard of the townhouse we lived in. I, young tomato lover that I was, saw a perfect, ripe tomato and was DYING to pick.

Mom, in her infinite wisdom, told me if I waited until the next morning it would be even better. I'm sure that she was trying to teach me some sort of virtue (like patience), or if it was merely a day short of utter tomato-ey perfection.

The next morning, I went to pick my perfect tomato, when I realized to my great horror, that SOMEONE ELSE had eaten half of my tomato. That's right. Some rude little vagrant rodent dined on my perfect tomato with a side of the basil we were growing. Good taste, bad rat!

Since then, there have been a number of rodents who I have hand fed delightful goodies, but I will never grow tomatoes again.

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