Feeling Peachy

Let me start out by saying that my wife is a complete peachaholic. For as long as we have been married she has made it well known that when peaches are in season, we’ll be buying them by the case.

In a very real sense she is the peach equivalent of Forrest Gump’s best friend Bubba. If you get her talking about peaches she will begin rattling off the million and one ways that she can prepare peaches. There’s fresh peaches, peach pie, peach cobbler, canned peaches, baked peaches, grilled peaches, peach jam, peach jelly (never mix up those to, trust me).

It is not that I am anti-peach, I just don’t seem to have the same level of commitment to this fruit that she does. For weeks leading up to peach season she is checking the prices of peaches and gathering availability metrics. As near as I can figure there is an entire peach underground movement that deals with peaches in a similar manner to the way slaves were freed in the civil war era.

Like most husbands I tend to try and ignore all of this stuff. My theory is, if I want a peach that bad I’ll stop by the grocery store and pick one up. This of course is paramount to heresy to the peach eaters society. Instead you have to get peaches directly from the source and there is a strict timeline when it comes to getting these fruit.

If I didn’t know better I would think these peaches were a delivery vehicle for some kind of drug the way these women are addicted to peaches. As I said, I typically try to stay as far away from the peach contraband discussions as I can. Unfortunately what I learned is that you can run but you cannot hide from the peach.

Trina happened to be in Indiana during the critical alignment of the peach stars. The reason I know this is that my iPhone started getting a tremendous amount of text traffic from my wife with questions about what my plans were and if the Suburban had gas and an empty cargo area.

It seems that peach d-day had arrived and she had exactly four hours to get to the peach dealer’s residence and claim her prize. With all the precision of a full military offensive Trina had arranged for the proper amount of ground troops to liberate the peaches from their captors.

I was given GPS coordinates of where the pick-up would be made and I was told to bring cash. The peach dealer did not want a paper trail and therefore the cash was to be in small bills with non-sequential serial numbers. I began to wonder whether I was picking up fruit or being set up as a patsy in a kidnapping sting operation.

I knew one thing for sure; I did not want to face the wrath of my wife if I somehow missed the peach window of opportunity. I gathered all of the equipment I thought I would need: sunglasses so I would not be recognized – check, rubber gloves so I left no finger prints – check, fast car with a full tank of gas and directions to Mexico in case I was followed – check.

After a drive to the peach dealer’s location; I cannot tell you where that was located. If I did, the peach mafia would rub me out. They know where I live and where my kids go to school. When I arrived at the location, there were several cars filled with women who were nervously looking about as if they were afraid that their location or their identity would be uncovered.

I went to the house and gave the secret knock at the door. A mysterious person opened the door a crack. I was told to go to the garage and someone would meet me. I approached the garage and the door flung open. Standing there was a cross between a Hell’s Angel biker and a long shore man.

Behind him stacked to the ceiling were cases and cases of peaches. I cannot even comprehend what the street value is on a stash like that. Before I could say anything, he threw a case of peaches in my direction and the garage door slammed shut. I quickly grabbed my box of peaches and ran back to the car. I half expected sirens to begin and being rushed by the Phoenix SWAT team.

I threw the peaches into the car and jumped into the driver’s seat. I threw the car in gear and squealed out of there. I couldn’t be sure but I thought I heard gunshots. It might just have been a car backfiring but I wasn’t about to stay there and find out.

As I drove away my iPhone came to life startling me. I looked at the display and there was a message from Trina giving me instructions of what to do with the peaches. I have no idea how she knew I had the peaches already. For all I know the peaches were bugged and my exact location was being tracked.

All I know for sure is that I will be glad when my wife gets home so that I can unload these peaches. I am not sure how safe I feel having them in the house. Peach season cannot end soon enough if you ask me.

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