We have recently become addicted to a show called Pushing Daisies, the main character of which is a pie maker. Being the brilliant lover of pastries that I am, I made the fairly obvious suggestion that we have pie while we watch our weekly show. My roommate and I carefully selected the Dutch apple pie Tuesday night and eagerly awaited seven o'clock on Wednesday when we would watch the Pie Maker and be the Pie Eaters. No one was more excited than Matt though; in the hour that the pie was baking, he repeatedly asked, "Is it pie time yet?" When the timer finally went off, I told him he could get the pie out of the oven. He scampered off to the kitchen, quickly followed by the clatter of pie being dumped all over my oven. He had burned his hand through the damp cheesecloth he was using as a hot pad (honestly, and this kid got a 32 on the ACT) and his natural reaction was to drop the cookie sheet, which then allowed the gooey pie to splatter all over the door and hinges of the oven.

My roommate and I spent half an hour scooping hot blobs of pie into the trash and scrubbing at the caramelized filling in the cracks and crevices of the door hinge. To his credit, Matt wanted to help, but since the oven was still warm and he was already injured I wouldn't let him. He felt awful and refused to go home until it was clean even though he couldn't help. When I opened the drawer beneath the oven, saw that the pots and pans in it were drizzled with pie juices, and realized we would have to wash them all, I sent him home to nurse his wounds. When we went to see him an hour or so later, he was already showing off his blisters and reenacting the event. He plays his role as a pity monger very well.