Sometimes a pie is more than it appears. One might say it becomes a slice of life.
Here’s how this went (in my house).
It’s mid-morning. I’m sitting at my desk, typing up a news article on deadline. Suddenly, a certain person clomps in from the garage and plunks a couple of bags of groceries on the kitchen counter.
Then the colorful commentary begins.
“Where’s my pie?” (Cue the stomping feet. Add some huffing and puffing.)
“It’s gone awry.” (Nope. I didn’t really say that. I'm no dough-head. I know better, at least most of the time.)
“Hey! Did you take my pie? Where’s my _________ pie?”
The pie-rade went on, but the tart words that followed don’t bear repeating.
Is frustration ever funny? Maybe.
Here’s the short version. Apparently, the grocery store cashier forgot to pack a particular fruit pie at the checkout counter. Or maybe someone left a bag behind. (I’m not going there. I can keep the proverbial pie-hole closed in a prudent pinch.)
Either way, an urgent call was placed. The store manager found the errant grocery bag and credited said customer’s charge card.
Mystery solved. Crusty crisis averted ... as easy as … well, you know.
OK, it’s not funny. So why am I still chuckling? Maybe I’m not all-out laughing, but I am wearing a pie-eating grin. And I don’t even like rhubarb pie.
Adapted by this user
from public domain art