The last piece of my apple pie is gone and I'm pretty sure the pan was licked clean. The delectable apple pie filled with tender, sweet apples encased in a flaky crust with just a dusting of cinnamon was the point of contention between TK and I this past weekend as he stepped on the scale.
TK insisted I was the cause of his over-the-holidays-weight-gain. I argued the very valid point (in my opinion, which validates it just by the fact that it's my opinion) that I only made the pie, I didn't force him to eat it. Like the people that sue McDonald's for making their calorie and fat laden food too delicious to resist, I stand by my argument that a lack of willpower on his part does not make me the guilty party.
As the great debate raged on it reminded me of another pie-eating, or pie-making, incident.