I make a pumpkin pie every year for Thanksgiving and, every year, I end up eating most of it. This is because Blair doesn't have much of a sweet tooth. In an effort to keep the calorie count down this year, I asked about maybe not making the pie.
"We have to have the pie!" said Blair.
"But you only eat one tiny little piece," I said. "I'm the one who eats it. I'd rather just not make it and not be tempted."
"I will eat the majority of the pie this year," said Blair. "I swear. My pie. All mine."
"Fine," I said, pulling out the ingredients. "Just remember you promised."
So I made the pie and family came over and we all ate. After about an hour of finishing the meal, I decided I wanted a little taste of something sweet so I cut myself and my sister-in-law a sliver of pie. "See, it's already starting," I called to Blair. "Get in here and eat this."
"Move away from my pie!" yelled Blair from the couch.
Whatever. We went next door to visit with neighbors then I took a nap. When I woke up, guess what? I wanted something sweet. Just a taste. And there was pie in the kitchen...
I walked into the kitchen and lifted the pie lid. This is what greeted me:
Oh no, he didn't. Blair was sitting on the front porch with my mom and my nephew. I stuck my head out the door. "You're not as funny as you think you are," I informed him.
He threw his arms up and almost fell off the stoop, laughing. "Oh yes!" he yelled. "Yes! I didn't think you'd be the first one to find it. Perfect! Oh... score!!!"
"There is something seriously wrong with you," I said.
It's hard to hold a grudge though, as I didn't eat the second piece of pie and haven't touched it since. Hard to swallow, with that little pig face staring up at me. No pie for me until next year.