The eff-you pie

I know you're only supposed to bake out of love. I know that it's supposed to be a relaxing activity done because you love and care about the people in your life and you want to gift them with your delicious affections.

But sometimes, the best way to solve a problem is by throwing pie at it. In a perfect world, this would always be the best solution to every problem.

The reason I bring this up:

I was sick on monday. Like, feverish, moving hurts, possible slight delirium sick. Oh, and it felt like a really pissed-off cat had been working my throat like a scratching pole. So I'm thinking, as I drearily trudge out of my room, I need to eat something. There's a slice of that banana cream pie in the fridge. Nice and cold and creamy and oh-so-soothing. So I grab it and a fork, and sit on the couch to eat it.

My brother had been bitching about it ever since. Just because he didn't have an initial shot at the pie because of his work.

So he brings it up today, and I start baking. Not out of love or caring, but because he needed a slice of Eff-you pie.

The deal of the Eff-you pie is, I make the pie, he eats the pie, he is no longer allowed to bitch about the pie. If he does, he gets a punitive slap across the face. He didn't quite agree to this deal, but I  figure, as the pie-maker, I get some executive power in forming pie-based deals.

(It's not even worth a shot from my Canon. It gets the smartphone picture)

No one tell him I made it with soy milk.

Gold Star to all those who feel simultaneously empowered and jealous of mid-century buildings with giant pie awnings by the use of the term "pie-maker."