I used to hate peaches. Partially because growing up I was forced to sit at the table and eat one but couldn't leave until the WHOLE peach was finished (with the skin ON. Barf). Plus peach cobbler is bitter. Recently, my hubs's fabulous aunt Cindy re-introduced me to the fruit, but this time it was with sugar and cream! So of course, I went (and am still going) peach crazy. I somehow obtained about 123,3129,383,239,574 peaches and had to eat them ALL in a week before they went bad.
For the past two days I have eaten:
2 peaches for breakfast
1 peach for snack
1-2 peach(es) for dinner
BOTH DAYS.
And I did not peel them over the garbage can. It's too far away from the sink.
They were peeled, pitted, and left in the sink. And left there, sitting, and waiting, and absorbing all manner of odors, until I made RJ (my husband) do the dishes this morning.
Having that said, here is my story….
I'm doing my makeup this morning and I hear a half shriek/ half cry for help coming from the kitchen. Like my husband was trying to scream but was gagged prematurely. I automatically dismiss this cry for help in my head and continue with the task at hand. About 3 minutes later my husband breaks down my door, 6 peach pits in his hand, huffing and puffing, with the most DISGUSTED look on his face.
He just stares at me.
My thoughts: Do NOT laugh. You are in trouble. Why didn't you put those in the garbage anyway?
His words: "Why didn't you just peel these over the garbage?!!!"
My thoughts: Because it's too far away from the sink.
I hug him so he can't see me laugh, but of course he feels it, pushes me away, stomps off to the kitchen to throw those dang pits away.
Lesson learned: Learn how to keep a straight face.
And…. Throw your peach pits away.
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