My husband’s favorite pie is apple, so I decided I was going to bake him one. The question was, could I?
I went over to his mother’s house to get a crash course. Now, Betty Crocker I am not, especially when it comes to making homemade things, but I was willing to try and learn. Heck, it could not be that hard. She showed me how to do this step-by-step in like twenty minutes. She made it look so easy. “Okay,” I said, “I think I got it,” and I went home to get started.
I had about three hours before he was due home from work, so I felt this was enough time. I did everything she showed me, and I was so proud of how it turned out. It was very pretty, not quite as nice as hers was, but for me, it looked nice. By the way, we had only been together for about one year at this time.
I put the pie in the oven and went about my business until the timer went off. About one-and-a-half hours later, I got the pie out of the oven, but for some reason it felt a lot heavier then hers did. But I thought, whatever, it still looks good, put it on the table, and covered it.
When my husband got home that evening, he could smell the apple pie and asked if his mom had baked us a pie. I said, “No, I baked you a pie!” He could not wait to try it. But then he asked why it felt so heavy. I said, “I don’t know …” He tasted it and asked why it tasted so funny. I said, “What is wrong with it? It tastes like pure flour.”
I was so upset, I ran out of the room crying. I had tried so hard to make it like his mom’s.
He came up to me and said, “It’s okay, dear, I will eat it, but Betty Crocker you are not and I still love you.”