Scones

On frequent occasion, my lovely wife undertakes a random task of domestic experimentation. This usually involves something crafty, and always something new. This week, it's been, "how do we put this mountain of raspberries to use?"

Easy, right? Open mouth, insert raspberry. Mush between tongue and roof of mouth. Savor flavor. Swallow. Repeat until mountain is gone.

That's how I would have done it, but my domestic creativity ends with mixing various types of salsa to obtain new flavors for my tortilla chips. Is that even creative? It reminds me of mixing all the fountain pops together when I was six. Mountain Dew, Slice, Root Beer, Coke, Diet Coke, Tahitian Treat, all in one glass... ah, that was good stuff.

No, my wife made scones. I mean, really good scones. Like, the type of scones that make Starbucks scones seem ordinary. White chocolate, raspberry scones. And she made lots. I quickly determined that selecting a menu for the next few days would be incredibly easy. I was in a state of euphoria that might possibly emulate a heavenly afterlife.

Yes... I WAS euphoric. I'm not any more. Tragedy has struck. See, there's only one left. One little scone, hiding in old tupperware on the top shelf of the refrigerator. Calling my name. Please eat me.

She froze them all. Froze! As if the juicy, tender succulence of white chocolate chips and perfectly ripe raspberries can ever be the same! Each scone is now caged within a devilish layer of aluminum foil and ziplock plastic. The experience can never be the same, and not wholly in part because I must now DEFROST a scone before I can experience its delicacy. Woe is me.

I must plot the timing of the consumption of the last unfrozen scone. Tomorrow morning, perhaps, before the wife wakes, I will make it mine. Hmm. Or maybe right now.