Women should be more like heirloom tomatoes.
I suppose men should too, but they have more flexibility, so I’m not discussing them right now.
We have this beautiful heirloom tomato sitting on our counter. It’s bright orange and red swirly. It’s a little misshapen, kind of funky in the front, but really cool to look at.
I’m afraid a lot women run around trying to look like the same mass produced tomatoes next to them. You know the ones they have in the big grocery stores? All the same color, all the same shape for the most part. They have these oddly symmetrical little green stems. They are the socially acceptable definition of a tomato.
I learned from a friend that conventionally grown tomatoes are actually shipped out green. They are not allowed to ripen on the vine. They are boxed up while they are still tight and the prefect shape. Then they are sprayed with something that ripens them on their way to the store.
Yikes, that doesn’t sound like a life at all. The worst part is after all of those gyrations to get them to the store . . . they have no flavor. They look like perfectly round vegetable/fruits, but might as well be a box of sponges. There’s nothing there. They are cookie cut outs of nothing. No sun, bees buzzing, hands tending, vines twirling.
Heirloom tomatoes are allowed to be tomatoes. There’s no carefully constructed formula for them, or a blueprint for their looks. They are individual. The way tomatoes originally were before we started messing with them.
If you’ve never seen a group of heirloom tomatoes, go do that for yourself. They are incredible, works of original art, each one. Two of them rarely look alike. They come in all different shapes and sizes.
Some have stems, some don’t. Some have these cool knots and twists, while others are simply round. They are sometimes misshapen, scared. Some are big and others are long. They are different colors, but their quirks are celebrated because they all taste delicious.
There’s really no wrong way to be an heirloom tomato.
Juicy, flavorful bursts of yum. Once you’ve had an heirloom, it’s super hard to go back to a sponge.
I think it’s because they are allowed to grow, be themselves.
I feel sorry for perfect-looking, conventionally grown, tomatoes. I always wonder what they could have been if no one had messed with them, wanted them perfect.
Heirlooms have the life.
I think women, especially young women, should take note.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Morning face.