In the back bed of a farmer’s pickup truck, a tomato notices a carrot’s feathery green rosette peeking out from the cloth covering his basket. As it happens, upon arriving at the farmers’ market, they are set side by side on the table of offerings. She thinks he’s sexy; he thinks she’s ripe. Their love story has just begun.
Related Essay: “The Fling”
Sometimes it isn’t about the search for meaning and enduring love; sometimes it’s just a fling.
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“Blast! I’m bruised!”
The juicy red tomato beheld her reflection in the farmer’s shiny belt buckle and despaired. She figured the Russian woman with the fake blonde hair would thumb her plump flesh and throw her back into the bin. There were many Russian immigrants who frequented this farmers’ market, and she didn’t know what their story was, but most of them seemed cut of the same cloth—rough around the edges and stingy. She didn’t care about that now, though. Her complexion was ruined! She knew that Carrot—Mr. Sexy, as she’d come to think of him—had noticed, and been turned off, just as things were progressing.
Well, too bad for him, she said to herself. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. And if his interest only went skin deep, then he was nothing but another one of those crispy orange dudes who would decamp the minute she let him have his way with her.
They’d met just a day earlier in the bed of the farmer’s truck as it sped down the freeway.…
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