Aw, who am I kidding. Every season is pie season.
I made some dough on Sunday, and tonight I baked it up so I can have pie tomorrow.
Y’all remember I have stomach issues? I try not to eat after 7 or the next day is uncomfortable. (While we were camping, my stomach gurgled in the night, but it was actually in my chest. Ick.) Anyway, while I made my pie, Lloyd kept coming in the kitchen for snacks. Chips, Junior Mints, a pickle. He has no sense of solidarity. The pickle was the last straw. I railed, “Do you realize that I am making a pie that I cannot eat until TOMORROW? TOMORROW?? How are your snacks, backstabber?”
He looked up at me. “I can’t hear you over this crunchy pickle. What did you say?”