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[at-l] Mrs. Putlebaugh's apple pie...

When the kids in the neighborhood used to fight, old Mrs. Purtlebaugh 
would call us to her porch. We'd all stand around, kicking imaginary 
rocks, looking at the ground. "What do you have to say for yourselves?" 
she'd ask. 5 or 6 mumbled answers later, "That's what I thought. Now, who 
wants apple pie?" Well, 10 or 12 eyes would brighten with anticipation. 
Here she comes with pie. She'd give us all a big old piece of pie. It 
wasn't until years later that I realized that she never once gave us 
apple pie. It was always cherry. And, it didn't matter. Why? Because most 
stuff doesn't. I miss that woman, and her apple pie.


WHAT??? I'M DIVORCED??? Anyone know where I can meet a 32 year old, 
redheaded divorcee who likes to hike and eat roadkill stew?

-- 
Felix 

Now with FICTION!!! http://members.tripod.com/~Felixhikes/index.html

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