Photo by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
The Way to My Heart
“Shut the damn door and take off those muddy boots,” I shouted over the kitchen chaos with an authority that had not been earned. The second batch of blackened biscuits lay crumbled next to my Momma’s recipe box and the bitter winter turnip stew was boiling over in defiance. I swiped a stray bang behind my ear and straightened the crisp apron your aunt had tucked into my hand as we’d left the chapel. You stomped the snow off your boots and tilted your Stetson, revealing a shy smile.
“Something smells mighty good, Wife.”
For more Friday Fictioneer’s tales go here.
Our lovely host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields will give you 100 words to round up your story. Rochelle’s third book was published last week. You can find all of her books here.
Ah.. I marital bliss of that smile… hope it’s enough to compensate for housewife severance
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A sincere smile is the surest way to my heart.
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You must be a graduate of Lisa Douglas & Elly May Clampett Culinary School. Do you make flying saucer hotcakes as well? The poor man better have an iron stomach.
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My finest dish? Blackened turnips. Yum.
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Wow, just like mah wife makes.
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must be a newly-married couple. everything gets better with time including the cooking. 🙂
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When we are blessed, the smiles never cease.
Tracey
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A match made in heaven then, a woman who can’t cook and a man who has neither olfactory senses nor taste buds. Perfeck! You did this well, Tracey.
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Hear hear Sandra!
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Thanks
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A good fun take. I like to think he’s hungry enough to eat whatever is put in front of him! Well done.
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Maybe the food doesn’t matter so much.
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Well, at least it smelled good.
Five out of five Lisa Douglas “hots cakes.”
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I had forgotten about “Green Acres” until you and Russell compared me to Eva Gabor. (The resemblance is striking.) Zanks Dawlings
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Zsa Zsa and Eva wouldn’t hold a candle to you, Doc, except for heating the coffee that looked like chocolate syrup. 😉
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Oh, yeah, remember those first days of marriage… the “pot roast” of infamy. Even I had to admit it was a failure. I begged hubby to order a pizza that night. He did, and the phrase “Pot Roasted” has become a standard for anything so messed up it’s not worth saving.
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What a cute memory. Laughter is the best marital glue.
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Awwww …
I love this very much.
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Thank you.
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Dear Tracey,
The first steak dinner I made for my husband was charcoal on the half shell. He was delighted. He really likes his steak well done. I said that next time he could gnaw on a bag of Kingsford. At least one of us was happy with dinner that night. 😉
Love your story. You have a way with words. Perhaps you could doctor the stew. (Yeah. I had to go there.)
Shalom,
Rochelle
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We learned to cook together! I’m sure we had some disasters in the beginning.
Tracey
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You going all soppy on us, Doc?
Neat story.
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Maybe there’s arsenic in that stew.
Thanks
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Good partners know when to show grace. Nice story!
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I agree. Thank you.
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Ah, newly-wedded bliss with Mamma and the auntie lingering inside recipes and aprons.
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Yes, that’s how I saw it. Thank you
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A very good story. I enjoyed reading it. Thanks for sharing!
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Thank you
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You are welcome!
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I like the way you showed her worrying about everything and he, so understanding knows exactly what to say. Nice take on the prompt
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I seem to have that type of man in my life and I’m grateful. Thank you for your comments.
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He seems to know how to charm and disarm her. I love that.
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