It all began in the produce aisle.
I unsuspectingly wheeled my shopping cart past an innocent and delicious looking stack of fruit. I caught a whiff of fresh peach, and I immediately stopped in my tracks. There they were - neatly stacked in a perfect pyramid, all fuzzy and peachy and delectable.
"Fresh fruit is really good for me," I remember thinking. Before I knew it, six of those juicy beauties were tucked into a brown paper bag and on their way to the checkout.
The problem began as I was driving home.
Images of those peaches kept appearing in my imagination, and the images were not of simple fruit. No. They had the nerve to appear repeatedly as a fragrant, homemade, warm, flakey-crusted, vanilla ice-cream topped pie.
I don't want to boast, but I have to say that I make a good pie. A fantastic pie. I learned from my mother when I was barely tall enough to see over the kitchen table as Mom whipped out the only pies that could ever be - and still are - better than mine.
I piled the peaches in my fruit basket in the kitchen and sternly told them to behave themselves. They were to be eaten in their fresh unadulterated state and that was that.
But these naughty little peaches just kept tempting me all through the day. By evening, I was helplessly rolling out pastry and slicing fruit.
I just finished eating my third piece of pie. And it is not my fault.
1 comment:
Awwwww....thanks making me crave this all of a sudden!!! You'll have to post the recipe for peach pie! I want some for the 4th of July. I can smell the peaches...
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