Which way do you say it?
It doesn't matter...either way I have enough of these suckers sitting on my counter that I could make enough sauce to float a boat to Italy.
Who wants to go to Italy?
I digress. I promised a picture of my garden, but I just can't bring myself to show it to you. I am embarrassed. Ashamed. Saddened that the time and energy and water I put in to this fruitful first-stab at a garden has ended up looking like an abandoned wasteland of weeds.
But I have this tomato.
It's cute, isn't it? Next year we're done with "cute" tomatoes. I want BIG, BEEFY tomatoes with teeth. Tomatoes a man could eat. These pathetic, red excuses for fruit are just slightly bigger than a grape tomato. Well, maybe not. They're bigger than that, but they still remind me of little bald heads.
Maybe I'm thinking of bald heads because lately I've been wanting to take a pair of buzz clippers to a few people who have really acted like bald-headed douchebags lately. Wait...this is a mother's blog. My children might read this.
That's okay. They need to know their mother said words like douchebag. It's what makes them tough. Or maybe I'll just delete this post in a few weeks.
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