Forgive me, for I have sinned. Now, I'm not talking about those trifles--fornicating, having babies out of wedlock, telling lies, neglecting my plants, or coveting my neighbor's anything. I'm talking about the big one. The worst sin of all.
I bought premade pie crust.
Please don't tell my mom.
Okay, you can laugh. Laugh as much as you like. But some kids grow up going to church and learning about Jesus or Mohammed or at least picking up a stray Hebrew phrase. My house, we ate pie. We take it pretty damn seriously. As we have no other idol or saint who speaks to us, the worship of pie is not undertaken lightly; I am pretty sure my mother has pledged her soul to the creation of perfect crust and magical fillings. For that, she is a high priestess of her art.
I would make my own piecrust, except I'm too lazy to clear space on the counter, and because making pie crust makes me break out in a nervous sweat. It is the anxiety of a worshipper who kows she might fail her god.
Today I not only failed my idol (and Mom), but when I attempted to cap my pot pie (at least we're talking pot pie, which is not the holiest of holies), the purchased crust ripped and crumbled and looked awful. I nearly cried. Not only do I quail in the face of creating my own crust, I can't even treat the store-bought stuff with proper respect!
There's only one fit punishment for this kind of failure. I'll have to eat a slice of the Safeway brand lemon meringue pie in the fridge. It's a long way from Marie Callendar's, and my mom would probably throw it away.