The Sex-Pie Incident

The sex-pie failed me.

But not in the way you're thinking. I still have not wooed said blonde David, but it was a success in a certain regard. I did prove that I could bake; I just didn't do my Southern heritage justice. Well I did in the pie regard, just not in the 'wooing-a-future-husband-with-baked-goods-regard.' I guess this just means that I have to step up my game. I'm not really sure where you go from homemade Peach Pie but you know, just look at it.

See below:

Apparently when you look like sex on skates you spend a lot of time away from home. I like to pretend he's at the skating rink working on his fitness, because he's 'Sex on Skates.' Get it?

Okay, he's probably at the gym working on his fitness instead. I refuse to believe he's shacking up with some chick. Refuse to believe it. So just don't mention it. He wasn't home the multitude of times I tried to drop off the sex-pie thus I was stuck with it.

It's probably because I started calling it the 'Sex-Pie.' When you enumerate these intentions things tend to not work out. Or at least that's the way it happens with me. Things are all grand until you apply that 'Label' and then it falls to hell.

Needless to say I feel like a lame-o-zoid creepo because I made a sex-pie for the neighbor and had to pawn it off on the building manager and a guy at work. Which knowing my luck. . .well one of them is gay so I guess that's not an option. You should probably know that I also made a pie for my gramma's 88th birthday and a gluten-free version for my friend. So it wasn't like I baked it out of the blue.

Although you could probably argue that's why I made my gramma and my anti-gluten friend a pie.

But we won't, will we?

I will not support or deny that supposition.