I Say "Tomato", You Say "Heaven Help Us"

One of the biggest things that Don and I go back and forth on is food. Specifically, we argue about when food needs to be thrown out.

Don will see a tiny speck of mold and want to send it soaring across the kitchen towards the can. I see an entire patch of mold and think, "I'm pretty sure that will still be edible if we cut off the moldy part." (In a completely non-violent way, Don likes to throw things. Conveniently, I have almost no depth perception so I often duck and run for cover when he starts juggling or whinging things behind his back and above his head...but back to the story.)

Most of the time there is either a clear answer (like the loaf of bread that is so completely taken over by mold you can practically see it starting to undulate) or a good compromise ("Let's throw out the two moldy oranges in the bag and not the entire 20 lb bag.")

Don has gotten MUCH more tolerant of my Depression-style drive to salvage every bite. And I have certainly loosened up about throwing out whole bunches of things. But every once in awhile, we encounter a doozy...like we did two days ago.

The story of the rotten produce needs a little introduction:

We have a little ghetto coffee "station" in our tiny kitchen. Why ghetto, you ask? Well, because our tiny kitchen has about 3 square feet of counter space and an odd floor plan, there was perfect room to set up a "microwave cart." And no, it's not a shiny metal and pine affair. This cart is actually a set of plastic shelving that normal people would put paint cans on in their garage. But it fits perfectly and serves our needs most of the time....

On our stand we have the coffee maker, coffee, and filters. Don stands there and readies the maker every night so in the morning it starts brewing upon the push of a button. A few nights ago, he thought something dripped in front of him as he stood there. It didn't really make sense, though. What could be dripping? Well, we have a wire basket that hangs from the ceiling above the ghetto coffee stand. A produce basket.

We both took a quick look and decided that it was a mystery.

Little did we know.

There was actually a giant heirloom tomato up there that had split its pants and was peeing, a drop at a time. Of course there was a host of other produce hanging in the tier below the offensive tomato. It was the perfect storm and a perfect haven for an enthusiastic little swarm of fruit flies.

It all pretty much goes downhill from there.

For those of you who use your plastic shelving for paint cans, you know that after awhile, the middle starts to sag a bit(thanks, Walmart!) Well ours has too. I lifted up the coffee maker and sure enough there was a fetid puddle revealed. Of course, of COURSE we both had to rush off to work. But what to do? Leave a little waterland resort for the fruit flies? In true MacGyver fashion, I threw a bleach wipe over Lake Eerie and we dashed out the door.

Luckily for me, Don got home first so he dealt with the nasty basket and puddle AND coffee maker. After the glow of not having to deal with the mess wore off, the guilt set in. I was the one to buy that rotten orb, the one to neglect it, and the one to not clean up after it. To help comfort my guilt, I made some fly traps out of beer and a few drops of dish soap, gave the Zookeeper a kiss, and rearranged the refrigerator so the rotting vat of spinach is hidden in the back.

Sorry, honey.