Cornbread in my Coobie

Before readers dissolve into disbelief upon seeing this post title, and as surely they wonder whatever happened to the oath that Dee would Definitely...at least usually... be PG13, give me a moment to expound upon my title. As you wonder if it is a really, really bad country song title or a personal or proprietary problem I definitely would not or certainly should not be writing about, I have to say that although he makes me crazy on occasion, there are a couple of things my better half does pretty much....well.... better than anyone else. And, once again, stay with me for a moment as I am quite sure the minds of some have gone straight to the gutter.

Backing up a step, perhaps the first explanation due is exactly what is a coobie. As many have discovered, some perhaps not, a coobie is quite simply the greatest bra ever! I think I and a generation of women of all degrees of endowment are hooked on these comfortable cotton wonders.....great under tee shirts, great under anything. They in my humble opinion have liberated women in the most needed of ways.

But, on to my second clarification. Not what some were surmising I am sure. My husband makes THE best fried squash I have ever tasted, yes even better than the famed Wagon Wheel. And secondly, he may bake up the best cornbread I have ever eaten. Hejust doesn't do either often enough. And again, please, I ask that we may all guard against taking single sentences of this blog out of context.

Finally this week, after repeated requests from my hubby that I stir up some chili beans, I relented. But, only if he agreed to provide the requisite cornbread to accompany my soup. I am not quite sure what makes his cornbread better than mine. It is a mystery much like that of my friend's fabulously decadent homemade chocolate cake. I have her recipe....I have attempted the cake. Mine just isn't the same.

Yesterday, as his warm muffins came out of the oven, I couldn't wait to dig in. Who needs the chili? I just wanted the bread. And warm as it was, my digging in was slightly messier than expected. So glad no one was around with a camera as I not so daintily stuffed the muffins into my mouth, tiny cornmeal bites fluttering down my shirt, and right into....well into my coobie.

Funny isn't it, how favorites seem to find each other.....Soup and salad.....grits and gravy....beans and rice....cornbread and coobies....