Plump -5minutefreewrite

The plump, ripe tomatoes that sit on the vine are lazy. They try to avoid moving at all, lest they bruise or attract a bug. They are haughty tomatoes, and they know about humans eating them. They're excited to be in a caprese salad. That's what the best will get to brag about. Well, they won't get to brag, because they'll be eaten, but their compadres will brag for them as they aspire to be in a caprese salad. There's also something to be said for being so delectable that you're eaten right off the vine. By someone's daughter, perhaps.

Of course, none of the ones who get eaten will have children. They don't seem to realize that, but their mother does. She despairs of having grandchildren. These plump tomatoes, who she did maybe too good of a job of raising, are all so career-focused that none will wind up in a compost heap.

Cheer up, tomato plant. Half of all produce is wasted. No matter how beautiful your children are, some of them won't be eaten. They will be thrown away. You can hope that they're purchased by some hippie who has a pot of dirt in their urban apartment, but who is too picky to eat a grape tomato that's slightly wrinkled, so she sacrifices one of them before her not-so-picky husband can eat it, and plants each seed carefully. One of your children will bear dozens of ... the metaphor is breaking down... So many, in fact, that they will kill each other. But several will survive and give you grandchildren... saved it.