As a kid I was unphased watching monster movies. The roller coaster didn’t scare me, in fact I’d buy 12 tickets at a time so I could stay on the ride. My brother used to jump out from behind doorways at me, with his fingers pulling his mouth in a contorted grimace and a loud ‘bwa-ha-ha-ha’. His attempted ambush only convinced me that he was definitely an alien life form.
Nothing scared me.
And then I began to grow my first homegrown tomatoes.
First I tenderly planted, watered, and tended a row of Better Boy hybrid tomatoes, chosen in part for their supposed resistance to disease and insects. Gave them support in a cage. Gave them compost and compatible neighboring plants. And I was rewarded with big beautiful tomatoes. I checked each day to see how they were ripening, and soon they took on a rosy glow that announced they were nearly ready.
I was feeling proud. I just had to lean in closer to catch the heavenly scent of a fresh tomato warmed in the sunlight.
And there…. staring at me eye-to-eye …. was the most horrifying creature I’d ever imagined in my wildest nightmares. No one had bothered to prepare me for an encounter with a horned tomato worm. 
Really. These things are gross. They can be 4 inches long and as thick as your thumb. And they are the exact color of your tomato plant, making them hard to see until you notice that your tomato plant has recently been defoliated. In the life cycle of a tomato worm (it’s actually a caterpillar and not a worm), it evolves into a large moth which overwinters as a pupae…. it emerges and lays eggs on the underside of the tomato leaves.
And if you think this worm has a pointy thing on his head …. you’re looking at the wrong end. It just can’t get more icky. Well, maybe it can. In the interest of civility I won’t even describe how I went about trying to conquer the first one I ever saw. Let’s just say that it wasn’t nice. Here are other suggestions for how to rid yourself of this neanderthal-looking invader.
Just the thought still scares me.
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