Lemon meringue, cooling on my stove top. Mounds of fluffy white sugary confection globbed over a thick lemon goo. Beautifully brown crusts, tightly encircling, and bounded themselves by a silver pan.

Waxing poetic over the pie. No mention of the stack of dishes that surround my artwork, or the wrung-out lemon peels, or the cracked and crumpled egg shells in the sink. With any luck, my husband will write that prose.

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