Yet Another Martha Moment

I was perusing the October issue of Martha Stewart Living yesterday, or rather, FDPG was perusing the latest issue of MSL yesterday and telling me how we would have to do each and every thing from the magazine because it all looked so Halloweenish and wonderful and cute and spooky and deliciously beautiful about all the interesting projects Martha had featured, when one particular picture caught our eye.

It was a picture of a lot of squash.

A lot of squash.

All kinds and shapes and colours.

It was a particularly beautiful photograph.

We both stared at it for a few seconds, and we even checked out the editorial page, where they show how they took the photograph of all those squash, until FDPG said "Hey, Mum, Martha has a garden just like you." Yup, right FDPG, I thought, nice analogy. A comparison only a sweetly devoted child of mine would make. Martha and her 20 gazillion acres and many highly experienced gardeners and neato specialized tools and clean well lit garden sheds and cool heirloom seeds (damn the cost) out back and me and my 1/3 of a rocky sloping acre and ancient rickety tools and no garden shed and highly constricted budget out back. Martha and her 4,328,291 squash and me and my 4 - count 'em - 4 acorn squash and 5 pumpkins. It's almost uncanny how alike we are, I thought. (I might also have gnashed a few teeth at this point but I've blocked it out)

Luckily this fit of garden envy uncanny comparison jolted me from my reverie about my last run in with Martha and those (damn it!) glossy glossy photographs in her magazine, because let me tell you, if I'd had more squash I might have done something in the photographic line, but I don't, so I didn't. (competitive? moi? surely you jest)

But I do have lots of tomatoes.
(uh oh)

All kinds and shapes and colours.
(well, actually, I do)

They would make a particularly beautiful photograph.
(well, actually they would, come to think of it)

So I took a picture of what I'd picked over the past 3 days.
(Oh, Sheila, you didn't. Honestly. Sometimes you are such a dolt.)

And here it is.
(ack, I'm closing my eyes until all this is over)

Okay, Martha, here are MY tomatoes, where are YOUR tomatoes?

Hmmm?

How about it?

I was rather lacking the white sheet umbrella thingie, the spotlights, and the Magic Photographer, but I had FDPG egging me on and Max holding the low-hanging dining room light fixture at a very awkward angle so it wouldn't block the shot - and who needs highly expensive camera equipment and trained professionals when you have one giddy seven year old and one better-humour-my-mother-in-the-hopes-of-getting-a-little-something-in-the-sugary-junk-as-a-reward-line son?
So whaddaya got for me, Martha?