That's the title of my next novel.
True story.
When my mother was dying of cancer, one of her "friends" showed up at the hospital to express her condolences. She was more than a little pushy, grabbing onto my arm and sitting me down, insisting on knowing how my father was faring. Not my mother, my Dad. I'd heard of widows who latch onto newly widowed men before, but this was my first encounter with one, and Mom wasn't even in her body bag at this point.
Well, not too long after Mom let go, maybe a day or two, the friend showed up at the family front door, with an edible gift. It was a very gooey lemon confection. We thanked her, several times as she didn't take the hint to leave gracefully the first few times, but leave she finally did.
I think it was der Brucer who wondered aloud "Why lemon?"
I couldn't resist, and automatically replied "Tart."
(Dad actually dated her for a while, before she figured out that he didn't have a lot of money and found someone else who did.)