A tote bag, a platter of tomatoes, and a bag of dressing, in sandals

It all began with me not RSVPing in time for a cookout. Because I emailed a good 6 hours after COB Friday my pasta salad was bumped. Of course I did not discover this till Sunday morning when I bothered to look at my e-mail for that account.
So Sunday morning, too lazy to actually go to the store and get something, I surveyed my yard trying to figure out what was ripe and ready to be made into “something”. I harvested 4 cucumbers (1 medium, 3 very small), 1 zuchucini, 8 tomatoes, and a handful of basil. The tomatoes had to come off the vine because, due to my uneven watering practices, and despite B. watering the tomatoes in front, they split. I was ok with the splitting because it is mainly superficial and I can cut around it but the ants discovered the split as a way to get into the tomato.
I can make pasta salad in my sleep. “Any other appetizer” suggested by the organizer, harder. After consulting my cookbooks I settled on a Martha Stewart concoction of tomatoes and basil. It called for red onion. I used shallots instead. I cut off the split and exposed areas of the tomatoes, sliced them, arranged them on a platter, covered them with chopped shallots and shreds of basil, then threw on salt and pepper. I made a vinaigrette of olive oil and basalmic vinegar and threw that in an old jelly jar so I could put the dressing on at the cookout, and not have dressing accidentally running on my dress on the metro.
Somewhere in all this I should mention I been wearing exposed toe, not really secure on my feet sandals.
So I head out with my platter of tomatoes, my tote bag, another bag for the dressing, in a sundress and these sandals. I was not really sure what bus I need to catch to get to the party so I was in deep thought at the corner of New Jersey and
R St, when I see this woman screaming “STOP HIM, STOP HIM” running after this slightly chunky kid in a red shirt on a bike. So I started running after him too, with my platter in hand, down one side of NJ and he on the other. He turned in between a house and a church near Franklin Street and I crossed the street. At the alley opening between there I stood, with my hand on my cell, already pressed to 911. Then I froze and asked myself, “what the hell am supposed to do if I catch him?” The only weapons I had were the tomatoes, the jar of dressing, a canvas tote, and sandals that wouldn’t hurt anyone if you threw them at someone’s head. Also I throw like a girl. At that time I see the woman, now in the passenger seat of an SUV tear down the larger alley.
Well, I guess I could do all I could do. So I turned around and headed towards the metro station.
The tomatoes, during all this remained arranged on the platter.