As Nice As Pie... er... Cobbler

At a church dinner, random flavors of fruit cobbler were set down at our places. Bob's was glistening red cherry cobbler, mine was pale apple. When I tasted each, the cherry tasted much better, a burst of flavor in a thick, not-too-sweet crust. "Hey," I whispered to Bob, "since I like yours better, can we trade?"
"Uh-uh."
"Well, then, if we both like yours better, how about if we split half and half?"
"No way."
I sat looking at my anemic apple cobbler. Since it gave me nothing to look forward to, I ate it first, feeling mighty unlucky with every soggy bite.
The char-broiled chicken was good, though. Just as I finished it off, Bob's dessert plate came scooting my way. I blinked at the single gleeful bite of cherry cobbler winking up at me. My heart warmed, my tongue tingled, and I enjoyed the last bite of sweet cherry cobbler while falling in love with Bob all over again.
When was the last time your heart was tickled by a small act of kindness?