Sexual Tomato

I should have grabbed the camera, and even commented off-handedly that it deserved a picture, but did I? No. Neither of us did.

My good friend Paula had just returned to town after another stint in our nation’s capitol, and she’d brought back agricultural contraband in the form of peaches and an heirloom tomato. The peaches, she kept, but I’m tickled to say that the tomato was shared at my house this evening.

As good friends can, she sensed that I needed company tonight. I was mopey yesterday because I knew the weekend was approaching, and work was more frustrating than usual, and grew ever more so until finally, around two this afternoon, I told the guy I contract for, “I just can’t deal with any more stupid people today. It’s not your fault, and I’m sorry, but I really need to just stop now, because I’m getting cranky and frustrated, and everything I write is going to SOUND cranky and frustrated.”

He must’ve been having a Fridayitis moment, because he laughed at me, in a non-patronizing way, and we agreed to call it a day.

So when PT called and said, “Hey, what are you doing tonight,” I was honest, and said, “I’d love to hang out, but I’m really not in the mood to GO out. But I have hamburger I’m planning to grill, and you’re welcome to come, if you give me enough time to vacuum my house.” (Vacuuming was not optional at that point, and had been on the agenda for today anyway – the pet-hair tumbleweeds were beginning to evolve into sentient creatures.)

Now, she’d texted me from the farmer’s market where the tomatoes were purchased, so I knew she’d found wonderful stuff, but the tomato she’d brought…it was deep emerald green on top, gradually merging with deeper maroon, and when we sliced into it the inside was a brilliant ruby red, and you could smell that wonderful tomato-y smell that wraps sun and vine into a lovely fleshy package. I arranged the slices on a black glass serving dish, and we sliced the top in half and ate it standing at the counter. It was perfect. It was sexual. It was total food porn. And it was DIVINE.

The rest of dinner was a simple summer supper: burgers on the grill, a salad, and baked potatoes, all accompanied by cosmos and chilled water, much laughter, and no talk of anything resembling work.

After dinner, we adjourned into the dining room I never use for actual dining, and had coffee, and noodled on our computers, but it was late, and neither of us was up to anything really taxing.

Better yet, she stopped at a tea store and brought me some frou-frou tea – 2 oz. each of Assam, Lapsang Souchong, and Golden Monkey, the last of which is $7/oz. I’ve been dying for non-bagged, interesting tea, and even though I really needed rest, brewed a pot of the Assam after Paula had gone home.

Plans for tomorrow include sleeping late, folding a metric assload of clean laundry, and washing several loads of towels.

And writing, of course, always writing.

CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 Sexual Tomato by Melissa Bartell is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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