[d]e[f]lation

I most certainly have a black thumb.
Most people know this.
I have a plant dubbed Sherman who refuses to die despite my best efforts to kill him and friends' parents and well-wishers' desires to put him out of his misery (rightly so) throughout college have endeared him to me like that of a three legged dog that I might live near.

I digress.
Sherman has thus far been my sole success story when it comes to matters of nature and its mother.

This year I reluctantly, and tardily planted a modest garden and some flora in my yard.
Things got hairy.

Weeds and rabbits took over, some days there was too much rain, some weeks there was not enough.
Places that I thought were shady turned out to be shade-imposters, but miraculously, things have grown.

Pretty colors!

I picked and devoured a small yet delicious harvest of green beans and pea pods.
My Parsley, which I have yet to use, made a formidable showing until the rabbits made it through the plastic-anti-rabbit fence, but I'm sure it would have been an excellent garnish to any dish had I the good sense to pick it pre-rodent-infestation.

Marigolds - we suck at deterring rabbit fiends

All this culminating in the tomato plants.
Large, leafy, easily flopped over, planted late and tasty smelling to any and all woodland creatures.

Despite the odds, tomatoes did in fact grow.
It being late August now,  I was thrilled to discover after my weekend hiatus on the coast that one or two appeared to finally be ready for consumption.
(I don't even like tomatoes which many know, few understand, and even less try to debate but that's a story for another time)
I was so excited. I gingerly crept over to the garden area, unobtrusively examined the other plants first so as not to illicit too much excitement or resentment amongst the various other grow-ables.

I hesitated and admired for a while.
Basking in my own horticulturalist glory, proclaiming to myself and the dog that the ruby red color of this first flagship tomato appeared to my trained eye, a bit more superior than its counterparts I had seen throughout the neighborhood.

I struck.
Picked the tempting apple of perfection and sin only to discover abomination lurking.

A fucking tumor.

A blight not only on my perfect little tomato but my gardening reputation as well.

I can't begin to describe the shame and anger spiral going through my mind but suffice it to say, demon baby was left outside tonight to weather whatever the elements throw at it.

Imperfection will not be tolerated nor welcomed into my house.

"go organic" my ass.

Pump my tomatoes full of mutant beef hormones please, if it means picture perfect produce, I am all for it.  Screw this shit.