Several weeks in, and Confused Tomato remains as confused as ever. He knows where up is; he wants to go where up is, but somehow, no matter how many times he twists his stalk, he just can't get where up is. I try to explain, I really do.
"C.T.," I say, "This is a good thing, I swear. Your leaves are never going to end up touching the dirt and getting leaf rot, your stem won't have to be strapped to a stake for support. You're easy to water, your roots have lots of soil, and if you just reach down and out a bit you can have all the sun you want. Don't you think that sounds nice?"
But Confused Tomato won't listen. Partly because he's a tomato plant, and therefore has no ears, and partly because it's all just so darn confusing.
1 comment:
I'm going to dedicate my day to the life lesson of Confused Tomato, looking for ways in which I, like Confused Tomato, insist on trying to go up when I should be going down.
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