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Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes to 1 hour.
Variation:
2 cans Comstock More Fruit Apple Pie Filling may be used in place of the pineapple, cherry pie filling & nuts. Good served hot with vanilla ice cream.
Clarissa
“Uh, Mommy?” Dante says through a giggle.
“Yes?” I ask, pulling into our driveway.
“Why is Troy asleep on our steps?”
“What?” I turn to see Troy passed out halfway to our porch, catching flies, his hand tucked in the waistband of his sweatpants.
I look back at Dante. “Uhhhh, maybe he’s sick?”
“Sick?”
“Why don’t you go inside and pick out some soup while I check on him.”
“Okay.” He darts over to where Troy lays passed out.
“YOU SICK, TROY?” Troy jumps up from where he lays, cradling his head while Dante yells at him from where he hovers inches away. “MOMMY AND I ARE GOING TO MAKE YOU SOME SOUP!”
Troy winces with
every word, cowering from the sun by placing one of his paws up to block it. It’s hysterical, and I can’t help my laugh as Dante puts his hand on Troy’s forehead. “Mommy, he don’t have a fever!”
“Doesn’t have. He doesn’t have a fever. Inside.” I round the SUV, and Troy glances up at me from where he sits, his expression sheepish.
“I’ll find you soup to make you better, Troy!” Dante bounds inside and slams the screen behind him.
When he’s at a safe distance, I lift an inquisitive brow to Troy, who’s now holding up both hands. “Before you decide to rip into me, I had a speech. A speech I carefully prepared and was waiting for you to come home to deliver. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“A text would’ve done just fine. Come on, it’s cold.” I hold out my hand, and Troy takes it, staggering to his feet. I catch him, barely, before we both misstep and topple into the yard with a thud. Laughing, he rolls us to where I’m trapped beneath him. I push at his chest to no avail.
“Oh, Cherie,” he murmurs down to me in a French accent. “I thought I would never get you alone.”
He bats long lashes down at me.
“Get off of me, Jenner,” I sputter breathlessly as his eyes rake over my face, stopping on my lips.
“You are a girrrl, and I am a boy, you see. Everyone has a hobby,” he slides his freezing hands up my sides, and I squeal as he leans in close. “Mine is making love.”
“Someone has been watching way too much Looney Tunes.”
“You may call me Street Car…because of my desire,” he leans in and places wet kisses on my neck as I struggle beneath him. “Muah, Muah, Muah.”
“Definitely drunk as a skunk. Alright, Mr. Le Pew, you’ve had your fun.”
“Not even close, Cherie.” He stares down at me, his eyes glazed, as my heart begins to pound.
“Get off of me, fool.”
“A fool for you, darling, may I call you darling? And finally, now that I have you right where I want you, the greedy little monster we created can step aside and let me have my own way with these love tassels.” He lowers his head as my eyes widen and begins blowing raspberries on my chest.
He’s motorboating me in the middle of my yard in broad daylight.
