Earlier this week, BWB put a pint of strawberries in the cart at the grocery store. This pint of berries came home with us, of course, and then proceeded to look sad in the fridge.

Yesterday, my husband asked me to make something cool out of them, because he wasn’t going to eat them and it would be very sad if they went to waste.

Tonight, having decided to make a tart out of them, I threw together some dough for the crust and stuck it in the freezer to chill. Meanwhile, BWB came home from his very long day at ICU and was poking around in the kitchen, looking for something to snack on. (Can you see where this is going?)

I went into the kitchen to set the oven to preheat and absently noted that my husband was pouring some sugar into his bowl of nice fresh strawberries. Such a shame, really, because strawberries are really plenty sweet without all that add-

“YOU’RE EATING THE STRAWBERRIES?!”

My dear husband froze in mid-motion. I could just about see his thoughts racing as he tried to figure out why this was evoking such a strong reaction. Weren’t they his strawberries? Did I want some? Are strawberries junk food now? What did he do now?

“Honey, do you remember asking me to make you something out of the strawberries?”

Realization begins to dawn and he nods.

“You know how I’ve been making something in here, with the tart pan out and the oven…”

Nod.

“…so the berries…”

At this point he looks stricken and explains that he didn’t MEAN to eat the berries, he just had one and it was so good and he thought the rest would also be good and he could put them back! Here, have berries!

I laughed and laughed and told him to eat the berries. There will be other berries, and the tart shell dough will be perfectly fine in the freezer for a while. Berries (even with sugar) are much better for you than strawberry tarts are, anyway.

Really?

Yes, really. I’m not mad, I promise.

He ate the berries. I turned off the oven.

I love my husband.

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