Tucker the Tommy Tomato

There once was a tommy tomato and his name was Tucker. Tucker was an angry little tomato. He was often so angry he nearly blew his stem right off. Tucker wore clothes made from ham and cheese toasted bread. He didn't need shoes because he trod very lightly on his tippy toes. That is how, when they did, all tomatoes walked.

Tucker got angry about many different things. He got angry when the traffic lights were red, even if he wasn't driving. He got angry when people did not say thank you, even when he wasn't giving. He got angry when there was not enough head on his beer, and he got angry when there was a very good head on his beer and it became a froth moustache on his top lip.

Tucker was just an angry little tomato.

Tucker got angry most often when it was sunny. He said his golden brown ham and cheese toasted bread ensemble simply would not look so sharp if it ever became a darker shade or- gasp- burned a little at the edges. Oh no, Tucker was not one for the sun. Being that he was already vine-ripened he saw no need for it. He poo-pooed at the mention of Vitamin D. He guffawed at the gall of them for suggesting sunlight as a method to improve his mood.

On one day in January, at Proserpine Airport, Tucker was stuck outside in the sun. Proserpine Airport, just outside of Airlie Beach, was an outdoor airport. The lounge for which to sit and wait for planes was in direct sunlight and it was always sunny there. Four seats sat in shade but they were filled with weary travellers who simply wouldn't get up for a testy tomato.
"Would you get up?" He asked them all. "I'm not one for the sun and my toasted coat can't take the heat."
"Sorry, Boss," They said, unconvincingly. "We're hungover, we're sunburned, and we're buggered."
Well, three hours later, Tucker's airplane was ready to be boarded and his clothing was ready to be aborted. His skin was soft, wrinkled and squelchy, and his coat was blacker than a starless night. If he'd been able to gather enough pressure inside his puckered skin he would certainly have blown his stem right off in anger.

But, as it was, he couldn't. So Tucker boarded the plane with a "schquelch schquelch" of his sagging tippy toes and he took his seat in first class. Before he buckled up Tucker ordered his first drink. "Hostess!" He boomed from within his sagging red skin, clicking his viney fingers. "I need a drink! One tall tomato juice. And make it snappy!" The hostess, thinking this was a rather odd request inside a very rude delivery, smiled at him and set about fixing his drink. But while she was hidden by the airplane curtain she giggled and snuck 3 large pinches of salt into his juice. She stirred them in well and put his drink on a service tray.
"Wait here!" He snapped, testily, and he drank. Finishing the juice with minimal sippage he slammed his empty glass down upon her tray. "Another." He said simply.
Well, the aircraft hadn't even been prepared for take off and here she was pandering to a testy tommy tomato and his beverage requirements? Oh, this would not do.
So the hostess filled his glass, this time adding 6 large pinches of salt to his glass and mixing them carefully. It should be mentioned, at this stage, that the hostess had man hands, so her pinches were really, very large indeed.
After Tucker had chugged the second glass of juice instead of filling out, as he had hoped, he looked down to discover that his skin had puckered even more.
He demanded another drink and the hostess again added a generous portion of her secret ingredient, giggling.
By the time Tucker skulled his third glass, his tummy had begun to hurt like somebody inside was wringing it dry. The pain was something quite intense for Tucker, who had not really known too much bowel discomfort in his time. Having never been in the position before, Tucker felt that this might be a time when one would be inclined to chunder.
At that moment the fasten seatbelt sign was lit and an amplified voice told him he couldn't move.
He squirmed and wriggled and tried to breathe deeply while a second air hostess watched him and scratched her head. She consulted her passenger list. "I don't remember checking in a fried, green tomato..." She mused. "Hm."

And then he couldn't hold it any longer. From deep inside him with the itch of salt and dehydration tickling at his guts, Tucker blew chunks. His stem flew right off and little tommy tomato seeds sprayed along the roof of the aircraft. His burned ham and cheese toasted attire crumbled away and he sat, naked, his insides out and his outsides empty.

Tucker, now nothing more than a tomato peel, was more testy than any tommy tomato had ever been. And he threw a tanty. He ranted and raved as his own tomato seeds dripped steadily from the roof onto his head. He caused such a ruckus the hostesses were forced to fold him up neatly and lock him away in an overhead locker for the duration of the 8 hour flight.

When he was finally let out, Tommy was a meek and sorry fruit. He was not testy, but timid. He always made sure to hydrate and he stepped out into the sun each day in a second-hand suit made from sea sponge.

And on special occassions, previously-testy Tucker made sure to smile.