Oct 9, 2015 3 min read

I’m surprised I made it through the summer. I’ve had a series of minor accidents of a klutzy nature the last couple of months.

Rising from a beach towel and breaking my toe was the epitome of stupid. I have endured a wide range of injuries from impossibly dumb situations.

All things considered, when my friends went parasailing on vacation, I’m glad I stayed in the boat.

Who knows what sort of hijinks could have ensued while I was floating above the Currituck Sound?

When you’re this klutzy, it’s best to know your weaknesses and stay away from black cats, ladders and perilous heights.

Last week, I was roasting vegetables.

That sounds simple enough. I cut up eggplant, zucchini, carrots, onion and garlic, threw some grape tomatoes on top, for color. Then, I drizzled olive oil and balsamic vinegar on the veggies and popped them in the oven. Simple.

An hour later, I checked on my vegetable medley. They were getting a nice char, but they weren’t blackened. I sampled a piece of zucchini. It was hot but at the perfect consistency, juicy but solid, a decent crunch. I was proud of my roasting technique. I ventured forth and popped a grape tomato in my mouth. That was my big mistake.

The outside of the tomato seemed harmless, but the inside was deadly. Imagine a red balloon the size of your thumbnail filled with lava. When I bit it, it went off in my mouth like napalm.

The gooshy insides were scalding me. It burned my esophagus.

For a week, I drank water and ate yogurt. Everything else hurt too much. I couldn’t have hot beverages or eat anything salty.

By the way, it turns out I only like foods that are either hot or salty.

The day after the burn, skin from the roof of my mouth peeled like Saran Wrap left out in the rain.

I didn’t know I could nearly die from a tiny tomato.

Side note: The grape tomato became popular in the ’90s. They are smaller, sweeter varieties of the cherry tomato, which used to be the smallest until the grape tomato made its debut. Personally, I don’t know why they’re engineering tomatoes to be smaller. I am waiting for the pill tomato. It will be the size of a Dippin’ Dot, but it will be fantastic.

But I digress, like I do. Grape tomatoes are delicious when they haven’t been sitting in a 450-degree oven for an hour.

I don’t know why I thought I could pull something from a 450-degree oven and put it in my mouth, but, once again, I’m a klutz.

It never dawned on me that something could be murderously hot.

It’s a week later and I still feel the burn, but I’m getting better.

I’d love to tell you all that I’ll be more careful in the future, and it will be a long time before I make this particular mistake, but careful isn’t in my nature.

Let’s just hope I survive another week.