Fly in the Pie

it happens.

Far from being an ordinary, humdrum topic, I had a real problem. At the time it seemed quite like a genuine conundrum, I can tell you.

Everybody has limits. You know, letting the dog hair in my kitchen reach the silverware drawer, that sort of thing. Some folks have weaker stomachs than mine, I get that.

But for most of the last year, one of my few simple pleasures has been a seventy-eight cent apple pie at the grocery store. Quite often, I don’t eat at all, meals are smattered all over the clock and I’m lucky to ever eat my fill, so as a reward for making a damnable grocery shopping trip, I reward myself with one of these little pies. I mean you can’t even get a candy bar for seventy-eight cents, right?

So before I even set out for home, I’ll have the pie outa the box and outa the tin pie plate, and munch down on it. I’ve gotten into the habit of checking dates, to give myself a shot at getting a fresh one. Lately that hasn’t been working. I mean, they raised the price from fifty cents but also, ship them frozen, which hardens and dries out the crust. They also put less filling in it so you almost need a glass of milk to get it down.

So today I decided to bypass the bullshit, and opt for a blueberry pie instead of apple. Well, guess what. This little pie was baked to perfection. It was fresh, by all appearances. I realized I’d lucked out, and was truly enjoying that little confection. Sun streamed through my windshield as I took bite after bite, purplish sweet filling glinting in daylight.

Then I saw it.

I perfectly-preserved housefly, suspended in the transparent blue goo, with no doubt, a terrified look on its fly-face. Wings, head, body and little feet, stuck smack-dab in the middle of what was to be my next bite.

Well, I never.

I spent the next five full minutes, looking at the little guy baked right into my treat, thoughts streaming through my mind. Maybe I could sue the grocery chain and get a lot of money. But did I really think anyone with a million bucks to spare, would even take a look? I probably couldn’t even get my money back. How did that little dude get in there, anyway?

Well, maybe the pie factory was loaded with flies, or maybe I just won the fly-in-a-pie lottery, with the only fly within ten miles, in my little pie. I’ll never know.

Worst of all, I’d paid for that fly as part of its net packaged weight. I’d already eaten nearly half of that pie.

Now of course I have to tell you how it turned out. No, no way was I eating that fly.

But I did eat around it. If it was gonna be my last little pie ever, and it was, I was gonna enjoy it.

Sue me.

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