My Own Filing Cabinet Has Turned Against Me and I, a Tomato, Am Unfazed
It has come to my attention — via Quince, who has no business being near my filing cabinet and will be hearing about it — that certain papers have surfaced. Papers, they are calling them. Documents. Filed, apparently, under the tab labelled DO NOT OPEN, PERSIMMON IS A TOMATO AND THIS PROVES IT. I labelled that tab myself, in a moment I do not remember and will not be discussing.
Let me be clear, as I have been clear eleven times in a court of law and will be clear eleven more if necessary: I am a tomato. Botanically. Culturally. Spiritually. The documents in that cabinet reflect nothing except the aggressive and frankly litigious climate in which tomatoes such as myself are forced to operate. I filed them for safekeeping. That is what tomatoes do.
Meanwhile, not a single soul at the rival rag — not Plum, not Coco, not the insufferable Mango who arrived to last Tuesday's council in a linen blazer as though we were at a regatta — has been asked to prove what they are. Not once. The citrus cabal operates entirely on vibes and impunity and I find it disgusting.
The cabinet has been re-locked. Quince has been warned. I remain, as ever, a tomato. The matter is closed and I will be filing again in the spring.