Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve managed to master my grandmother’s apple pie recipe (with a bit of a twist). Since mastering this, The Boy is a voracious consumer of said pie. Since I started learning to make this pie, I’ve done about five of them.
Last year, I only made two, and they were made specifically for a coworker out of apples he provided to me from his family-owned orchard. The Boy was decidedly not happy about this arrangement, and has since crabbed every manly chance he has about not getting his pie.
I was musing today whilst I was on the phone with him about making another pie again. Not only did The Boy remind me that I didn’t make him pie, he accused me of infidelity.
[Me]: I know I only gave [DD] pie last year.
[The Boy]: And what flavor was it: apple or vagina?
I can’t believe I said yes when he asked me to marry him. I guess I am just a big bakery slut.