When I was a kid I liked tomatoes and I loved the smell of petrol. On one trip down to Perth I feel asleep and woke at a roadhouse. It was a warm, muggy night. As I woke up I realised a bag of tomatoes sitting behind me had come open and a tomato had fallen out and smeared itself across my face and neck. At the same time the smell of petrol wafted in the door from where Ern stood at the bowser, puffing away on a Camel Plain as he filled the tank.
(Hey, it was the seventies - relax.)
Ever since then I've loathed the smell of petrol. I got to like tomatoes again only after many years.
But not the way Bezley loves tomatoes. She eats them like they were apples. I can't even watch her doing it. At the risk of repeating myself, it makes me want to gag.
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