Here’s the thing with tomatoes: I don’t actually like them. At least not raw. I’m also not overly fond of children, cats, or people with poor manners. And I hate ketchup. I really, really, really hate ketchup.
I do like lots of other things. Meatballs, peep toe wedges, dumplings, bluegrass, sugar snap peas, NPR, the color green, cheap beer and expensive sparkling wine, dark nail polish, old British sitcoms on PBS, cherries, BBC Nature specials, homemade oreos and store-bought crabcakes, squash, sweatpants, madras, Hemingway novels about bullfighting, Duck Dynasty and Swamp Loggers, freshly ironed napkins and lots of pillows on my bed. My favorite animal print is giraffe. It’s not pop or soda, it’s Coke. Even when it’s Cheerwine.
I am a Carolina girl in self-imposed exile, because absence makes the heart grow fonder and the flaws disappear. Happily settled in DC, I am continually searching for good pizza, better boots for women that actually have calves, the perfect burger, a pretty butter dish, and my favorite black skirt that disappeared in 2000.