an ode to canned peaches. (yes, really.)

I have this crazy obsession with canned sliced peaches. Eating them is like eating slivers of golden sunshine surrounded by a smooth syrup of liquid gold. No, really. Triumphant music should begin to play and those brightly colored flags, (like at fairs and such,) should madly wave when the top of the can is peeled back, revealing the goodness inside.

I know canned peaches sounds gross, because generally canned goods are mushy, goopy messes that looks nothing at all like the brightly colored picture on the front.

But canned sliced peaches are different.

Oh, my. They're fantastic. The way they slip down your throat, the way they taste, the way they look, it's all such a delightful experience.

(Yes, Laura, I know that they probably aren't even remotely related to real peaches - not even by marriage, but I could care less.)

And yesterday I came home from school to discover six cans lined up by the sink. SIX CANS.

Because, you see, my mama knows how much I love them. She's heard me praise their golden, tasty beauty at every opportunity, and so she bought me six parcels of sunshine just 'cause. Needless to say, I did a happy dance and told her she was my hero. Or heroine.

Or just my mama. Because my mama is thoughtful like that.

Canned Sliced Peaches? Y'all make my life a wee bit brighter. I hope you like being eaten. Because otherwise you're out of luck.