Smashing Tomatoes

In honour of Galentine's Day and Valentine's Day weekend, I thought I’d share a bit about my love. (A real bit about it, not the happy, cute stuff I usually share on Social Media. Given that honesty can sometimes be hard to find online, I'm making a genuine attempt to be more open and honest here.)

Drake and I have been together a long time. Around 2013, when we first moved in together, Drake had a particularly awful day. I can’t remember exactly why, but he was feeling low. He asked me if he could throw eggs at the kitchen wall, something that he and his roommate had done while living together in residence during College (Thanks Craig). Initially, I was horrified. No. NO. Nope. Definitely not. All I could think of was how terrible the clean up would be. We had just moved into our first apartment together and it was a rental!

Although visibly disappointed, Drake understood my hesitation and respected it. However, I’m not completely heartless. I met my love in the bathroom with an almost full carton of eggs. We sat on the floor facing the tub. Drake bestowed his grievances upon each egg and then hurled them at the tub surround. His terrible day melted away and we ended up sitting on the floor laughing hysterically, covered in egg splatter. (Picking egg shells out of the tub later was definitely not ideal, but it was worth it.)

Flash forward several years. The other day, I was having an “off” night. Drake had worked an 11 hour shift and I had spent my day running errands that were important, but not necessarily fun. We had planned to have breakfast for supper. I was super excited to make Drake a “chaffle” (a ketogenic waffle made of cheese and egg) and regular waffles for myself. I absolutely love waffles and love making them just as much. I have a vintage waffle iron that I stole from my mother when I moved out. (By stole, what I actually mean is bought her a new, bigger waffle maker for Christmas and then took this one with me). It makes four of the most perfect rectangular waffles.

Unfortunately, this night my trusty waffle maker let me down. Instead of the fluffy cheese and egg waffle I expected, I ended up with a layer of hardened cheese burnt onto both sides of the iron. Of course, as luck would have it, I attempted the chaffle before making my own waffles. But now my waffle maker was a complete mess. I couldn’t make waffles for myself unless I cleaned and re-seasoned the waffle maker. Because it is ancient, the plates don’t come out easily. Which meant I also needed the waffle maker to cool down before I would be able to take the plates out and clean them. So, I knew that I was not getting waffles any time soon. I know that out of the three people that read my blog, at least one of you is thinking, “Take the batter and just make pancakes, Laura.” But pancakes are NOT waffles and I wanted waffles. Pancakes just would not do.

By this time, Drake had finished making eggs and sausages for himself, as previously agreed upon. Although he tried to give me some, I declined. I encouraged him to eat his dinner while it was hot, while I sat with him at the table. He offered to cook me anything else I wanted, going so far as to get up from the table mid-bite. But I declined each offer with a downtrodden, "No." This day, while not even close to the worst one I’ve had, defeated me.

Our kitchen is quite small, but according to Drake, I managed to sigh dejectedly in every part of it. Which he apparently, had had enough of. He had me stand still and close my eyes. I could hear him frantically moving about behind me. Cabinet doors opened and closed and he placed an apron over my head. He turned me around and I opened my eyes to see a cutting board with three cherry tomatoes on it sitting on the counter next to our meat tenderizer. He held the tenderizer out towards me and said, “Smash them.”

I refused. I wouldn't even pick up the tenderizer. All I could think of was cleaning tomato guts off everything in our predominantly white kitchen for the next several weeks. When I voiced my concerns out loud, he grabbed two more cutting boards, stepped up behind me, and caged me against the counter. He held the cutting boards up in a makeshift barrier around the tomatoes, mitigating the tomato gut threat. He placed the tenderizer in my hand again and chanted in my ear, “Do it. Hit them.” After several long moments, I relented. I brought the tenderizer down on top of a tomato. Still behind me, Drake, continued his encouragement, "Get them! Make salsa! Smash!" Again and again, I brought the tenderizer down. I laughed so hard, tears streamed down my face and I could barely see the tomatoes. I laughed. I smashed. I cried even more. Then, snotty nosed and red faced, I smiled. All of the weight I was carrying had evaporated.

Sometimes, when I say, “I’m okay,” what I really want is for someone to hug me tight and say, “I know you’re not.” Especially now, when times are tricky and we are all feeling the stress and uncertainty that the pandemic has caused. Fortunately, I am incredibly lucky to have a partner that is so good at recognizing when I'm hanging by a thread. I have always hated crying in front of other people. Even if it's someone I know loves and respects me. I hate that "big girls don't cry" mentality and wish my family had spent more time talking about and normalizing these feelings when I was growing up. Maybe if that had happened, I wouldn't have to spend so much time working on it now? Anyways, Drake knows my struggles. He's quick to use humour to open me up or to provide a strong, quiet chest for me to sob all over (sometimes both).

I wish you all this kind of love - the soggy eyed, egg throwing, tomato smashing sort of love.

Best,

Laura

P.S. - I’m still finding tomato guts around the kitchen.