I love tomato sandwiches. It is a southern thing.
What does a tomato sandwich, a “wiffle” ball and an idiot have in common? Read on and I’ll explain in detail.
I bought two absolutely gorgeous tomatoes the other day. They were the kind that one slice would overlap a piece of bread. Slap that rascal between two pieces of bread, some Duke’s mayo, and salt and pepper to taste and I’ll get ‘bout as close to heaven as I’ll probably get.
I got these two huge tomatoes at a roadside stand right here in Wayne County.
They were not ripe enough to be sandwich-ready. I usually put them in the kitchen window and let the sun help them along for a few days or whatever it takes. The weather folks said approaching hot weather was going to test us with a taste of summer-like temps. They were right.
I took one of those big boy tomatoes and put it on the rail outside on my deck to heat ‘er on up quickly. I wanted a sandwich that night.
Remember the days of the wiffle ball? It was a baseball-like toy the young’uns played with. Some adults, who refused to grow up also played with them, including me. They always came in the color of white.
Now, years and years later I have created a red one. Got home just on the edge of dark and went out to get my tomato to make that sandwich. Instead, the birds had gotten to it first.
I should have known. That tomato was pecked and pecked and pecked... It looked like a wiffle ball, but was a red’n.
I was glad no one was around to laugh at me.
I probably should not tell this story, but after all I went through to get that sandwich, only to lose it to stupidity needs to be shared. I know stupid cannot be fixed, but providing a warning might help.
I love birds, and all critters, but at the moment I found my red wiffle ball I also wished I had my Red Ryder BB gun. It all took me back to childhood days when I got a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas. I shot and killed a mockingbird one time and cried when I realize what I had done.
My mama made me wrap it in cotton, place it in a shoe box and bury it with a backyard ceremony.
She then proceeded to carry out what we young’uns called a good ol’ fashioned ... whuppin’ with a switch she made me fetch and prepare for the gallows.
Remember those days? It was not child abuse. It was home schooling. I think we need a little more of it today.
William Holloman is a staff writer for the Mount Olive Tribune.