Condo Bounty

You never know when you’re going to need emergency mozzarella, do you?

On my walk with Mamie this morning in our complex I noticed an acquaintance pull up and park in front of a unit I knew wasn’t his. He got out and walked around and opened the passenger door. Mamie and I continued on with the strolling, stopping, and sniffing that moves us a foot and a half at a time.

          We’d made it several yards when Stephen pulled up next to us. Sensing a chat coming on, I unhooked from the “Says You” podcast I was listening to.

          Leaning out the window, he asked, “Do you like tomatoes?”

          I knew he and his wife had a plot in the town community gardens. He must have been dropping off some of its results to a friend. I assured him that yes, I did, and had been hitting farm stands to enjoy the non-grocery-store tomatoes as long as the season lasted.

          He said they were knee-deep in them, had already been canning and their garage freezer was full, so I was more than welcome to stop by their place for a share. He left with a wave, and I walked on, wondering if I’d feel weird knocking on their door like a tomato-less waif.

          Mamie and I rounded a corner, continuing to sniff and pee. Next thing I knew, there was Stephen again. “I have some tomatoes. Want me to leave them by your door?”

          He drove off, and dog emptied and exercised, we returned home where I was thrilled to find all this:

          Looks like I’ll be making eggplant parm tonight.