The Redcoats Are Coming!

Naturally, by "redcoats," I mean "strawberries." I am a poet after all, and it is a poet's job to describe things so that other people have to slow down and ask themselves what the GD the poet was smoking when she put those words together in that order.

It was a real treat to find these beauties at the produce store, and when I got them home, your father and I about devoured them.

Sorry, frozen blueberries, but your reign is OVER. (The pancake in which these blueberries were staying took the news awfully hard, electing to slice itself in half and flop against the plate as if nothing were worth living* for.)

*By "living," of course, I mean "being covered in syrup."