Plump Red Tomatoes

I was firm on ignoring my hunger pangs. Then I saw the plump red tomatoes in our Lazy Susan. I thought I could stay strong and firm to stick to my zero-dinner habit.

I crossed out the possibility of ulcer. I'm 101% freakin' certain about it.

Plump red tomatoes.

I'm now 101% full because of those plump red tomatoes. I reheated some spoonfuls of rice, tender chunks of pork adobo and, yes, two plump red tomatoes in the oven. 

Plump. Red. Tomatoes.

I'm now plump, according to the boy. God, he's got a poor vision.

Blast those plump red tomatoes. Blasted plan. Bloody red tomatoes. Bloody plan. Blast the Brit inside me speaking. Blame Chris Egan a.k.a. Chris Wyman in Letters to Juliet. I'd volunteer to roam Siena and look for Lorenzo Bartolini just so I could flirt with hunk Charlie. Lucky fact checker/hopeless romantic Sophie. Never mind the Rotten Tomatoes rating. 

I've been told that incoherence is a liability. A major one. So I'll stop. Good night, plump red tomatoes. Enjoy basking in the present calmness of Lady, er, Lazy Susan.