Tomatoes in the sock drawer. Popping up in the medicine cabinet. Even surrounding my cat as he sleeps. This is what happens when tomatoes attack. And this weekend they became so vicious the fire department had to intervene.

It all started in May when the hubby and I decided to plant a couple of tomatoes. We had one plant last year and this year we wanted more, because more is always better, right? And for some reason we think our little plot of land is the equivalent to 50 acres of bucolic farmland.

We planted the small Roma my co-worker had given us and then headed to the garden store. Time wasn’t on our side, so we grabbed a few seedlings and dashed out of the store.

My hubby prepared the soil. I sat back and pointed out all the things he was doing wrong. He dug. Then planted. He handed me the plant tags. I read them. What does indeterminate mean? I Googled. I stood up. I surveyed the area our new plants called home.

Uh oh. We now had two plants in a space that should have held one. Time still not on our side, we decided we’d deal with it later.

This is what the space looks like now:

We also realized we took home an interloper. We had an Indigo Rose, not a Better Boy. I Googled again. Well, these are some strange tomatoes. They turn purple as they are exposed to sunlight. Thinking they were ready when they turned purple (never mind that they were still green on the bottom), I ate a few very unripe tomatoes before realizing they turned purple first, and then red. This is what a ripe one looks like:

Now the end of summer is upon us and our four plants are churning out fruit faster than we can say two tasty tomato plants tangled together. Why we thought we needed four tomato plants, I don’t know. And we weren’t prepared for the ambush to come.

I found a sauce recipe online and began peeling and chopping.

The next week I made another batch of sauce and within a few days the tomatoes were back. They were multiplying… exponentially… times 64 squared. I mean, I had a ton of tomatoes and they were everywhere. Look at what happened to my house:

Finally the squirrels decided to help out. They need Lycopene too. But their little mouths and bellies were no match for the might of the tomatoes.

I decided to make sauce again. This time my hubby suggested we let it simmer over night. Well, he’s usually pretty smart and savvy in the kitchen. So, I went to bed with our yummy sauce bubbling away.

The next morning, as I prepared for my cousin’s upcoming wedding weekend, the carbon monoxide detector starting blaring. I silenced it. Two minutes later it alarmed. I silenced it again. And again it warned of certain death. Fine. I would love to have the fire department over. The house was embarrassingly messy, my hair was soaking wet, my fingernail polish was still drying, and we had to be out of the house in two hours.

Four men showed up armed with a contraception that looked like the ghost detector in Ghost Busters. They went right for the stove.  Yep, our simmering sauce was the culprit. The firemen aired out the house with a giant fan and gave us a tutorial on how to vent our little house.

We also learned that a wager was made on their way over. Stove versus water heater. One fireman was very lucky that day.

Now, as I look out my back window, I see more. They are coming and they must be eaten. What will I do with them? There must be something other than tomato sauce. Please help, before they attack again…