Son Of A....

I love grape tomatoes. Love them. I eat them like popcorn, by the handful. And I never have to feel guilty...because they're tomatoes! They're loaded with vitamin C and lycopene and all kinds of super-powered cancer-fighting antioxidants. So I can chow down.

So here I sit today, mindlessly snacking on a pint of organic grape tomatoes while compiling a Rufus Wainwright mix CD for my friend Willow. I'm not looking at what I'm taking...I'm just reaching in and grabbing and then stuffing them in my mouth while singing 'Sansoucci' (the dude sings in French...seriously, how can you not adore him?). Eventually, I do glance over at the carton as I reach for yet another handful.

And then I spot it.

A rotten, moldy tomato. Not just a tad bit rotten, but all squishy and brown and split open with masses of white, furry mold all over it. Despite rinsing the pint out before digging in, Señor McMoldersons managed to make it past my inspection. Brilliant.

Well, naturally the rest of them are ruined. Quite frankly, the sight of the nasty thing (and the thought that I probably already ate some tomatoes that rubbed up against it, all furry and inappropriate) kind of ruined my appetite. But I'll probably survive. So I ate a bit of mold...so what? That's what immune systems are for, right?

Anyway, I'll just chug down some Pomegranate Blueberry Talking Rain Twists Organic Water (say that five times fast) to kill the taste. And some Easter chocolate for good measure.