Saturday morning in bed. Handsome Hubby turned to me with that warm, brown-eyed, loving look that usually signals one of two things—he wants to get frisky, or he’s hot for hotcakes and bacon. But not this weekend. The man, a constant source of surprises, said, “Baby, it’s happening in Fallon. Cantaloupe! Big time. Cantaloupe. Let’s get moving.” Read more