There is half an apple pie left from Thanksgiving dinner. And I’m craving it. The whole thing. Unfortunately, I’m at my house in Bloomfield and the pie is at Greg’s house in Regent Square. I knew I should have carried it home with me on the bus yesterday. I suppose I could get on the 54C. Get off it in Oakland and pick up a 61A, 61B, or 501. But do I really want to go through that much trouble for a pie? I would get to stand in the sunshine for a while when I transfer buses which will be a nice change from sitting in front of my computer in an unheated house trying to delete a virus.
I don’t think I can motivate myself to go all the way across the city for the oozy, crumbly, cobbler-like pie I created. Is it shameful if I walk across the street and buy a Mrs. Smith’s or Sara Lee frozen Dutch Apple pie to fulfill this craving? I shouldn’t spend that money when I already have a perfectly good pie. But it’s not in my house. Maybe I should bake another pie from scratch…Maybe I should just stuff myself on the baked ziti that’s cooking in my oven so that I’ll be unable to think about stuffing apple pie into my already bloated belly.
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