An open letter to pie:
Seriously, pie. Raspberry or blackberry or even apple if it doesn’t have that crumbly crap on top.
Delicious pie, the kind with real chunks of berries or fruit and very little filling.
Oh. My. God.
You tempt my senses and all of my control. I see you and I must have you.
Why must you be so delicious and fruit filled? Why must you be so inexpensive and near the front of the store?
I simply can’t control myself when you are nearby. It takes all that I have to wait until I am at home before ripping off your wrapping and tasting your forbidden fruit.
Panting, I wait for the first delicious wave of taste to hit my mouth, I eagerly anticipate the sweetness that you give.
At times I am left gasping for air as I look down and see that you are no more.
Spent, I will lie bloated on my couch and wait for the next temptation to come along.
Dearest pie, I love you so.
Wow. I seriously feel less than useful now.
Whew! I’m a little out of breath after this.
Poor Brian!!
Girly, I love me an ode to pie. Pie. Cake. Same damn thing