every time. every time I say I can’t stand tomatoes someone emerges from the mist to offer me an heirloom cherry tomato from their garden. “It’s good. It’s sweet. You’ll like it,” they wail and wail. my attempts to deflect them with no thank yous and jokes about them being close relatives of deadly nightshade to no avail. they continue to attempt o force the round orbs upon me. I give in to their plea and take a bite. “It’s ok I guess,” I whimper as my eyes water and I struggle not to gag on the sour, mushy, hell fruit.
Try a heirloom cherry tomato from my garden. It’s good and sweet and you’ll like it
no no no no no
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i'm very gay. i'd like a few dollars. 