Pride Comes Before the Fall

I baked two pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving dinner, and they turned out beautifully. They smelled delicious in the oven, even if I say so myself! The first pie was gone, eaten at the first dinner we went to at Jerry's side of our family. Lots of people liked my pie, and since we had another meal to attend later at my daughter's house, I thought this was working out pretty darn good, with one for each. I was basking in the compliments and really looking forward to a piece later, when I had digested some of the meal.

We stopped at home during the afternoon, and as my husband was opening the front door to take the pie to the car, it slid off the container of rolls, and proceeded to fall end over end to the floor, narrowly missing the dog, who scrambled nervously under the table to avoid the pumpkin missile that nearly exploded on her head. It seemed to happen in slow-motion, like a train wreck that can't be avoided, and you stand helplessly watching it.

And then, I began to laugh. It truly is like spilled milk, usually happening unintentionally. But, my husband was pretty upset, as we scooped up the pie from the floor with pancake turners and into the trash basket!

You can't let these things get you down! I can always make more pie. But, next time, I'll carry it. Ok, honey?