But the size isn't what scares me. It's those tomatoes. I hate tomatoes. The slime inside them makes me gag. It sticks to my throat and slowly drips its way down to my stomach. This is if I can even get them past my tongue. In my defense, I've tried - TRIED - to like them. It's the hugest pain to always be asking places to hold the tomatoes, and I'm missing out on what could be amazing food. Bruschetta? We've never been properly introduced; alas, I've only admired you from afar.
The part that's especially scary is that I've heard eighty million times how AMAZING homegrown tomatoes are. Sure, sure, I don't doubt that for a second. And I know that as soon as those babies are ripe, Bo is going to make me taste one. My lips are squirming just thinking about it. Had I been smart, I would've planted an eggplant and made him return the favor of tasting something he hates. Oh well. Wish me luck.
For scale. Plus, it's fun to make her pose with ridiculous things.
Rory's not so much a fan of the giant beanstalk of a thing either. Maybe that's because she can no longer root around in the dirt. She dug us some pretty good holes when it was sitting within reach of her little paws.