‘How I scored a swell tee shirt.’
So. A friend and I were driving to a luncheon on Shelter Island (I know, I know. That sounds pretty fancy: a “luncheon.” And it was. Each summer that luncheon on Shelter Island is about as fancy as it gets. For me, anyway.)
No, this wasn’t served at that luncheon. This is a punchline sandwich
But back to that drive on Shelter Island.
My Sagaponack friend (Hi, Amy!) and I travel together to this shindig every summer. Sometimes she drives; sometimes I do. It’s actually fun to drive to Shelter Island — and even more fun if you have a friend along. You get to take a cute little ferry, for one thing.
Plus there are lots of clever signs for little oddball businesses. I used to take The Child up through Shelter Island to get to the Big Ferry at Orient Point, which was her jumping-off place to get to the train that took her back to Boston, and school. And every time I made that drive, I’d swear to stop off at this one tempting little antique/junk shop next time. (Of course, I never did. Maybe next year, hey, Amy?)
Amagansett has some pretty clever signs, too, like this one. Does this mean that farmers are surfers? Or that surfers are farmers? All I know is that their stuff is so $$$, it’s like eating wadded-up money
Anyway. This time, sure enough, clever signs. We passed one that said “Peeky Toe Clams.” Of course that sparked a few snarky remarks: “Peeky toe?!? What’s a “peeky toe?” Is it like your foot in a flip flop? Oh! I see. It’s a clam. That sort of thing. Cut us some slack. We’re two ladies driving, cracking each other up.
We didn’t need no stinkin’ farmstand when we were kids. We had Dad
Well. Right after the Peeky Toe Clam sign we see another one. This sign is white paint on a big ole piece of barn board, and it says “TOMA” on the top, and then, right below that, it says “TOES.”
So, I’m all like, “What on earth is a “toma toe?” If a “peeky toe” is a clam, I give up. What’s a “toma toe?”
And, there in the passenger seat, Amy is laughing so hard she practically activates her air bag. Finally, she gasps: “TOMATOES!!!” It’s “tomatoes!”
Oh.
A big ole platter of toma toes and mozzarella
So. Amy and I get to the luncheon, where I simply must tell this story. After all, if you can’t laugh at yourself, then you’re kind of a sorry sort, right? And besides, if I didn’t tell it, then Amy was bound to. She and I regale our table with the Toma Toe Tale. And, a few weeks later, I’m with a bunch of these same luncheon friends when I’m handed a little shopping bag with a red ribbon on the outside and a red-and-white surprise inside. (Thanks again for the tee shirt, Wendy!)
Here’s wishing all of you friends like mine — and the best end-of-season toma toes you can lay your hands on. I’m having some myself, tonight. With my ham burger.
My favorite new grilling outfit
Amagansett, New York. September 2024