My not-too-sweet pie doesn’t have a price tag. Turns out it’s $4.99, which is proper and now it’s mine. Don’t you just loooovvvve pie? Don’t you just want to eat it all day? I mean allllll day? Don’t you just want to wear a pie smile on your morning commute?
Now if your face is absolutely covered in peach or chocolate or any of the skin toned pies, and you’re driving in to work, your neighbors’ drive-by impression is, “Why does that person have so much extra face at the front of his face?”
This illusion can be accomplished – while driving – by feeding directly through the front of the pie without any utensils, and by choosing ahead of time to match the pie filling to your skin color. It’s just like trying on foundation at the department store, only you might be a guy and we’re calling it breakfast.
If you eat blueberry pie, it may be outside your natural skin tone range unless you’re a corpse who somehow drives a Taurus, and then your car neighbors will be impressed differently. There are handbooks for dealing with such emergencies.
Once you arrive at work, I advise a trip to the restroom for a quick adjustment. If you must jump straight into an urgent client meeting, please think ahead with wet naps, available in the baby aisle and often in portable packets. If you’re a lady, it gets tricky here because you’ll also be wiping off every lick of makeup in the process.
Frankly, if you need to horse down a pie at 70 M.P.H before meeting with the new client, you may have issues that are beyond the scope of this manual. Forgive me for being so forward.
If this is to be an all-day affair, public pie consumption does not have to become difficult, at lunchtime with your peers for instance. “I’ll just have dessert,” you’ll say. No one can argue with your culinary choices, now can they.
I feel confident that I can visualize your ride home since there’s a fully stocked cooler of pies, surrounded by ice packs, sitting in the back seat. Hell, you left the air conditioning on in the car all day just in case. Waste of a battery, but it’s your dime. Pardon me again.
At home, your exit ritual from the car on pie day is very specific. During the customary sprint from the driveway to the front door, flocks of birds dart at your mouth. You must bat them away. “All this trouble – but it’s worth pie day, isn’t it?” you say to yourself. Your fists punch at the fluttery movement above your head; you bet it’s worth it.
My pie that I got today was none-too-sweet so I didn’t gobble up the whole En-Tire thing. Until I did. Felt bad, then wrote a manual for my peers in pie consumption. Feel better now.