Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Pits? Or not.......

(I really do have a sign in my kitchen and a magnet as well that states: There is a kitchen because it came with the house.)

A Dollar’s Worth
By Alisa Dollar

If a can of cherries states “pit” does that mean pits have been removed?

I have a problem decoding can-speak.

In high school I took home economics. I took it because I had to. I took it because every female in my family could and still can cook. I took it because I thought it would be fun to learn to sew and cook.


I pin patterns to material every one inch. Mother looked at something and made it from several patterns and never pinned.

I wouldn’t mix patterns and for good reason. I made the only pair of walking shorts that ended up a tight skirt sown with legs. Don’t ask how it happened. There’s good, solid reasoning that only “I” understand.

If I could have figured a way for the legs to be separated, I could’ve been the inventor of leggings. Instead, I had a skirt/short that was so well put together I couldn’t walk, much less sit down. Plus it was a mess by the time I took it apart to try to read the pattern better.

Then the cherry incident happened. I claim fame to pie crust. I could flute with the best of them. I should’ve taken up sculpting.

I was a dismal failure at meringue and couldn’t stand those yucky eggs whites anyway, so I always made double crust pies.

For homework, I made a cherry pie. I was so proud of it because it really was pretty. It had the red juices oozing out of the top just like it’s supposed to–hot and ready to serve.

I put it in front of daddy and sat down waiting expectantly for accolades of how well I’d done, how good it was, and so on.

I wasn’t expecting him to spit out the first bite and hear a clunk on the plate.

I was horrified.

Daddy was choking.

The only thing he didn’t do was grab his throat and run.

I did the only thing I could. I sat frozen to the chair wondering what I’d done wrong; I’d followed the recipe.

He finally gasped I’d not pitted the cherries.

I went straight to the can and pointed to the pit part which I then realized must mean pits aren’t pitted.

Several morals apply.

Buy cherry pies, then you don’t have to worry.

Don’t choke around me, I freeze.

Especially if I’ve done the cooking.


  1. ahahahahahahaaa!!! ahahahahahahhahaaaaaa!!!

    I like you; you remind me of me!!

    I once sat across the table from a man at a potluck who counted 36 pits in his slice of cherry pie. Now I know who baked it!

    But you sure can write!

  2. I promise I've never made another cherry pie! And thank you very much for the compliments (reminding me of you and writing)!