The drive home had been treacherous. Three inches of new snow fell during the afternoon, on top of the foot and a half from yesterday. I opened the back door and shook it from my shoes before stepping into the warmth.

All thoughts of snow left my mind. The kitchen was filled with the unmistakable smell of peach cobbler fresh from the oven.

“Hi Dear”, I said, looking around for the peachy treasure.
“Bad roads?” she asked

There it sat on the kitchen island, all nine inches by fourteen inches by who knows how deep, still hot in the pan.
 
“Getting worse”, I replied.
“A little snoverkill if you ask me.”

She emphasized the “s”. She had probably overheard this verbal atrocity sometime during the day and had been waiting to drop it on me. Any other day I would have chuckled. But with this wonderful smell in the kitchen, she deserved more. I laughed out loud.

“Snoverkill! Now that’s funny!”

Her satisfaction palpable, she floated to the island.

“I made some cobbler.”

Now I’ll be the first to admit I have an intense love for fresh peaches. I love the smell as it passes my nose on its way to my mouth. I love the acidic sting on my tongue. I even love the way the fuzz makes my lips buzz. Come to think about it, I have a weakness for anything that is peach flavored. My favorite wine is a rather girly peach and my favorite soft drink is sparkling peach flavored water. But for me the epitome of peachy is and always has been peach cobbler.

“Smells wonderful”, I said.

I went directly to the fridge. Yup. A brand new tub of Cool Whip. The perfect topping for the perfect dessert. I glanced at the clock. 5:30. Another hour till supper.

“Maybe we should eat early tonight?”
“You can wait.”

Well, obviously I would.

I went to the study and busied myself with some unfinished writing. I could still smell the cobbler. I don’t know how she expected me to concentrate. But I did. I was lost in the subject when she stuck her head in the door.

“Dinner’s ready.”

I’m proud to say I didn’t run. The table was set, and there it was, a generous portion on a small plate beside the main dish. Even better, she had piled on the Cool Whip. She usually made negative comments about how much I used. This time she had put on even more than I would have. I decided to laugh at her wordplay more often.

I managed to eat the main dish at a civilized pace. I pushed aside the empty main plate and pulled the dessert plate front and center. In a single swift cut I forked a hefty portion, carefully balanced to be precisely half Cool Whip and half peachy goodness and sweetened crust. Perfect. Just the way I like it. Awash in anticipation, I put it in my mouth.

Now what I experienced wasn’t in words. It was far too brief for that. Perhaps the mental equivalent of texting OMG! WTF!

I had to be careful. If I just blurted out what I thought, I might jeopardize all future chances of getting cobbler. And maybe not just cobbler.

“Mmmm, good”, I said.
“Thanks. I used Lite topping instead of regular. You can have as much as you want.”

I never thought of dessert as a duty, but that’s what it was. I cleaned the plate.
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RefractoryBlog.com
Refractory Specialties, Inc.