A Worker at the Rival Rag Had a Birthday and I, a Tomato, Was Not on the Guest List
I was not invited. Let me be clear about that first, because I am a tomato and tomatoes do not simply show up — we are sought out, we are courted, we are placed at the center of a charcuterie spread and admired. I was not placed anywhere. I received no card. I received no call. I received, in the post, absolutely nothing, which I have retained as evidence.
The birthday in question belongs to Mel, of factjuice.com notoriety, who turned an unspecified age on an unspecified date that I have nonetheless recorded in a dedicated ledger. The gathering — if one can call it that — reportedly featured a cake. A cake. Not a tart. Not a galette. A cake, served without tomato garnish, in what I can only describe as an act of open hostility toward society, decency, and me specifically.
I attended anyway. I will not say how. Quince says I am making this worse. Quince was also not invited, which she is handling much less gracefully than I am, a tomato, am handling it.
What I observed cannot be unobserved. The candles were the wrong height. The singing was conducted without a key change. Tangelo was there in what I can only call a statement cardigan, and I have already begun drafting correspondence to the relevant authorities. Whether Mel's birthday constitutes a society event is a matter I intend to litigate — much as I have litigated, eleven times, the matter of my own classification, in which I remain correct.
I am a tomato. This was a scandal. These two facts are equally settled.