And I'm Not Even Pregnant!

Saturday evening Seth and I were sitting on the couch watching some football when I casually mentioned a sudden craving for pie. This is something I do on a somewhat regular basis... voice random cravings. Not that I expect Seth or anyone to do anything about these cravings, I'm mainly just thinking out loud.

So I've just verbalized my latest craving for a food we don't have and Seth immediately says, "I'm going to go get you a pie." WHA?! I assure him he doesn't have to run out during his football game to get me a pie, I'm just fine. But he insists. He wants to go get me a pie. Says he's been "looking for a way to spoil his lady." I know he will not relent until he has a pie in his hands so I offer up answers to his questions...

"What is your favorite kind of pie?"- Mixed Berry.
"Where can I buy a good pie around here?"- Marie Callenders.
"Is Dreyers Vanilla Bean icecream a suitable companion for this pie?"- Why yes. Yes it is.

And just like that he was out the door on a quest for a pie and some icecream.

About a half hour later he returned with a box from Marie Callenders and a Target bag containing a half-gallon of Dreyers Vanilla Bean icecream.

If Seth was looking for a way to "spoil his lady" he sure picked a good way to do it. That was one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me. He's got some serious bonus points now.

By the way, the pie was awesome.

What would you do for a Klondike bar?

My sisters and I love icecream and we always had some in the house growing up. Corinne's normal serving consisted of at least a half gallon piled into a cereal bowl. I thought for sure she'd get heart disease from all that cholesterol by the time she was 13, but somehow she pulled through.

We were always up for going out to get icecream. It could have been the fancy icecream parlor a few cities away or a soft serve cone from the McDonalds down the street... we weren't picky.

One evening my dad was filling us in on the protocol in case of a fire. He asked if we thought we could get him out of the house if he was unconscious. We thought for sure we'd be able to do it and Dad made us a bet, just to make things interesting. He laid down at the bottom of the stairs in the family room and said that if we could drag him up the stairs, he'd take us out to get icecream. I would guess that Corinne was 12, I was 10 and Annie was 8 at the time. Annie and I each took a leg and Corinne grabbed my dad's arms. We pushed and pulled Dad's 215 pounds of dead weight with all our might and he just laid there limp as a rag doll. He didn't move an inch. "Come on you big bunch of wusses!" he'd say and we'd tell him that "unconscious people don't talk!" We tried and tried, probably for a good 15 minutes or more. Nothing. We finally came to terms that we wouldn't be getting any icecream that night. Dad came to terms that if he were to become unconscious in a house fire, he'd be toast.