Seems that I’m getting some negative press regarding my [intlink id=”23″ type=”post”]Crazy Pie[/intlink] post from awhile back… Is Crazy Pie like Mad Cow disease in that the people who eat Crazy Pie become Crazy? Did my Mom have Crazy Pie? Is Megan Crazy too? Will I wake up one morning surrounded by empty tin pie containers being the last person on earth who is not crazy? I don’t think so, but I should tell my story now in case that does happen!

First some background information about the way I was raised. Despite turning out to be rather sarcastic ((which I really don’t know where it came from. Oh crap, that itself sounds sarcastic. Funny.)), I was raised to be very respectful to just about anyone and everyone. Be it a family member, friend, a teacher, a coworker or just someone I didn’t know, I was taught to always be respectful. I guess I could provide examples, but everyone I thought of was either stupid ((like the time I suffered through Chicken ala King at a friends house because I didn’t want to upset his mom… Yuck!)) or referred to a horse named Plattey. Poor Plattey, I’ll always remember you. Why did you have to leave us so soon Plattey?! WWHHYY!!! Obviously I didn’t have a pet horse named Plattey growing up, but we did have a sick cow in the back yard who provided milk for my parent’s coffee each morning. Poor sick cow. Yes, my examples make no sense, I’ll just move on.

So now that you know how I was raised – again, what the hell happened – let me set the stage for my first and only Crazy Pie experience:

It was a warm, dark night in the fall of 2005. The leaves had just began to change colors for the season and the wind was howling through the trees. Seriously, I have no idea what it was like outside, we were inside. Ha, that’s funny. Okay, let me get back to the story.

Back in the fall of 2005 Megan and I invited her Mom ((Mo and/or Crazy depending on the moon)) over for dinner as her Dad was still working weekends. Why this doesn’t sound all that important now, this night was ever important to me as it was the first time Mo was over to the house since Megan and I started dating. This was big – I needed to make a good impression ((I guess I did because they are giving me a cow in exchange for their daughter! Who’s the real winner here! Woohoo!)). Now that I think about it, this may have been only the second or third time that I was around Mo so a good impression was mandatory!

Mo came over and Megan and I prepared or served or did something with dinner and hopefully the three of us really enjoyed it. Honestly I don’t remember dinner at all. Actually, the only thing I remember about this night is the Crazy Pie. But I probably shouldn’t admit that. Nope, I’ll keep that to myself so I can continue my claim of remembering everything ((crap I just told everyone)). So with my ever impressive memory I’m assuming ((hoping that I’m correct)) that we sat around and talked, possibly even played a game or two (but no Hand and Foot, we only had three people) and really enjoyed each other’s company.

Then came dessert time…

Mo brought over an old family favorite ((I’m making that up, I’m not really sure if it’s an old family favorite. And, for that matter, if it is an old family favorite I’m not really sure what family! HA!)) for dessert – Crazy Pie. I’m honestly not sure of it’s real name, but what the funny part is that I was already calling Mo Crazy and it was still very early on in our relationship. So not only do I have an all-remembering memory, I can also see and predict future truth ((Seriously, you better be wearing your boots cause it’s getting deep…))! Wow – I didn’t think about that until right now – my brain is like a crystal ball that can tell the future! Holy Crap!

Crazy Pie. Presented for dessert was a nice, round pie with what looked like an absolutely delicious filling made of vanilla pudding or something, um, edible. Individual pieces were served and we all began to eat. I’m going to try my best to describe my thoughts the best I can remember them:

Oh, that looks really good! It looks like a pudding pie or something. Yum – a nice looking crust with pudding in the middle. Oh I can’t wait.

Scooping piece with fork: “Wow, this is going to be so great!”

Placing piece of pie into mouth: “Almost, it’s almost time to taste this amazing pie!”

Closing mouth and experiencing first taste: “OMG – what the hell did I just put into my mouth”

Now, see, it doesn’t stop here. If you remember for earlier I was raised to always be polite and respectful and blah blah blah, so there was no way I could express my dislike or even think about saying anything negative. I had to struggle through the Crazy Pie. I M-U-S-T eat it. It’s just one piece, no worries. I can do this!

After the second bite I realized that there was no way I could possibly continue. I swallowed the remains of whatever was in my mouth, turned to Mo and Megan and just apologized. Not only did I feel embarrassed, but I was so worried that Mo would be upset or hurt too. Luckily I now know that she was not – she just knew that I didn’t like Crazy Pie! Megan and Mo continued eating their pieces until they were finished. Mo did ask if we would like to keep Crazy Pie for another night and I respectfully declined. 😉

Of course, to this day she swears that something must have went wrong during the “making” ((while it’s supposed to be baked, I don’t think we’ll ever really know what goes on internally with Crazy Pie while it’s being produced)) process, I still have my doubts! 🙂