The Dreaded Apple Pie
“Look, the amount of apples on the tree,” said Dia looking at the apple tree in the back yard.
“Sure, just like last year, at least ten grocery bags full.” Juggernaut showed little interest.
“I have a new recipe for apple pie from a nurse at Spencer Hospital.”
“Yeah, what’s new?”
“This time, I am adding more apple sauce and apple cider concentrate along with some ginger.”Dia memorized the recipe.
“OK.” “We still have few frozen apple pies from last year in the freezer you know,” Juggernaut’s voice as ring of caution.
“May be we should allow the apples to stay on the tree for good, for this season,” Juggernaut played safe.
“No way.” “I am committed to try the new recipe.
“Alright,” the discussion ended thought Juggernaut.
Using the new recipe and Juggernaut’s help in peeling and slicing the apples, Dia made a dozen of apple pies. No doubt, they were pretty good.
“I made few apple pies from our backyard apples, so I will bring few for your birthday to the office,” Dia mentioned casually to Dan, her coworker.
“For my last birthday, you brought an apple pie, you know.”
“The year before and the year before, three years in a row.” “I don’t want any apple pie again,” Dan won’t mince words with anybody.
“I thought you and others at the office liked it,” Dia was apologetic.
“I don’t know about others but I had enough.”Dan is a man of few choice words.
“Ok, I will make an apple crisp for you,” Dia try to compromise.
“Frankly, I don’t want anything that contains apple, at least for next few years,” Dan sounded like a man in distress.
“I will try sweet potato pie, then,” Dia insisted.
“You try that Dia that will be good.” Now Dan was polite.
When Juggernaut heard what transpired at the office with regard to apple pie from Dia, he understood fully well since he was afflicted with chronic excessive apple pie syndrome for some time now.
“Which desert we are serving for this evening dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Pawar?”Juggernaut was curious.
“What else, apple pie.”
“Are you sure, they like apple pie?” Juggernaut was doubtful.
“I don’t see why not.”
The dinner with Pawars went very well that evening.Dia brought out homemade apple pie.
“The pie was juicy and spicy,” said Mr. Pawar gobbling up the entire slice into his mouth.
“Sure indeed,” agreed Mrs. Pawar.
“Really, let me get one more slice to you both,” Dia was excited.
“Oh no, that’s enough for me,” said Mrs. Pawar.
“Please have one more slice,” insisted Dia.
“How about you Mr. Pawar?”
“The apple pie was good but I am OK.”
“Are you sure you don’t want one more slice?”
“No, not at all.” Mr. Pawar was gracious.
“I made from backyard apples you know,” Dia explained as if she was selling.
“Oh, but we are fine with one slice,” Pawars were now digging in.
“OK, shall I pack few slices for you to take home,” Dia insisted.
“Oh No,” Mrs. Pawar jumped from the chair waving her hand as if shewas defending herself from an onslaught.
“Are you sure, you don’t want to take home,”Dia still persistent.
“No, please.” Mr. Pawar stretched his both palms in shape of a stop sign.
“Didn’t we were served apple pie last time too, may be we shall bringour own desert either Rasgulla or Laddu or Gulab Jamun next time when we are invited for dinner at Dia’s home,” thought Pawars on their way back home.
Dia still have over a dozen of dreaded frozen apple pies in the freezer waiting to be served.
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