Nothing Says Romance Like Garlic
Who eats garlic pasta on a first date? It’s either a sign that you absolutely won’t be making out later, or that you are so comfortable with the person that you won’t even care that you both have toxic, anti-vampire garlic breath when the time comes.
I think it was the latter for me and Jason.
“Just go out with me once – if you don’t have a good time, I’ll never ask again.” Who can turn down a proposal like that?! It didn’t take much convincing, anyway. I could almost see my fate through the mist – I knew I wouldn’t say no. I knew I’d be saying yes for a long time.
Guess I was right.
Every year since Jason and I married, I attempt to whip up a replica of our wedding cake – an Italian cream cake – in honor of the occasion. A dreamy confection made up of coconut and nut-flecked batter topped with a swirl of cream cheese frosting, the cake is the perfect edible anniversary gift. Just one problem, though.
Cake is my archenemy.
Do Your Dance at the Peach Jam
“Everybody get up it’s time to slam now
We got a real jam goin’ down
Welcome to the [Peach] Jam
Here’s your chance do your dance at the [Peach] Jam”
I was literally singing this out loud. All day, be-aproned and hovering over the stove with jam splatters on my face. That was a Space Jam reference, in case y’all missed it.
Millions of Peaches
It’s peach season here in Colorado, y’all. Know how I know? Because they are EVERYWHERE. Grocery stands with piles upon piles tumbling over themselves, lip-smacking honeyed aroma spilling into the aisles. At the farmer’s market, with twee little baskets lining the tables. Even roadside, enterprising peddlers have pop-up fruit stands trying to get rid of the season’s bounty.
And then Abby took a drive up to peach country. Who can refuse when a friend offers to pick you up a pallet of Colorado delights, straight from the land of milk and honey? Arrangements were made, money changed hands, and then – there they were.
Y’all, there are so. Many. Peaches.