Toma-toes are Ripened on the Vine

I spent the better part of yesterday thinking that the plural of "tomato" was "tomatos", and that the word "tomatoes” was a made up word that didn’t make any sense.

I kept wondering what a “toma-toe” would look like, and decided that a toma-toe would just look like a regular toe with an extreme version of athlete’s foot, and maybe some stems.




This is just further proof that my brain cannot be trusted.

After a day of agonizing about why I misspelled “tomatos” on my grocery list, it occurred to me that “tomatos” didn’t look right, either.

So I Googled it.




And yes. My brain was definitely lying to me.

Just like every time I try to spell “definitely”, my brain insists that it should be “definately”, even though I know there isn’t a goddamned “a” in it. After the 4000th reiteration, you would think I would be able to spell it right. And you would be wrong. I know how to spell it, but my brain tells my hands that I should type it the other way, and it won’t stop.

And then there is the math. I am required to do simple math on a regular basis at work. Simple addition and subtraction. If it looks complicated, I pull up the calculator on the computer, but most of the time, my brain will provide me an answer faster than I can type (and I can type pretty fast).

You would think I would have every single math subtraction combination memorized. I mean, I worked retail. I can count change. But no. 100 minus 65 equals 35. 47 minus 44 is 3. 102 minus 47 is 55. 135 minus 65 is 65. Only it isn’t. It’s 70. I see the 100, I see the 35, and my brain just throws in a plausible looking number without asking. And what’s worse, I don’t question it.

This is why I can’t be a scientist. No matter how awesome my logic is, my brain succeeds in sabotaging everything I do.

So yesterday was Mother’s Day. Dad wanted to make an omelet (not homelet or omlett) for her, but we didn’t have enough eggs.

Dad: I am going to the store to get eggs

Mom: You should make a list.

The list was made. Tomatoes. Mushrooms. Peppers. Cheese.

I went with Dad to the store so I could go get some Starbucks for my mom. Starbuck’s was a madhouse, and I was in there for a good 20 minutes.

We finally got home, and I was thinking this would be more a brunch than a breakfast.

Dad says, “Hey, I forgot the eggs. It wasn’t on the list.”

Maybe having a sabotaging brain is hereditary.