Crust only, please

There are 7.5 billion people on this planet. The only one of them for whom the crust is more desirable than the filling somehow happens also to be my daughter.
There are 7.5 billion people on this planet. The only one of them for whom the crust is more desirable than the filling somehow happens also to be my daughter.

Yesterday evening, our resident master chef, Susan, baked a wonderful homemade blueberry pie. Fiona has had her eyes on it all day. At lunch, when I told her we were going to have pasta, she replied, “No, I’m going to have some pie.” When I told her that we were going to wait until this evening to have some, when the person who baked the pie could share it with us, she expressed her disappointment in a way that only a four-year-old can. (Anyone who has ever had a four-year-old knows what that means: a tantrum.)

So this evening after dinner and family home evening, when Fiona was finally going to have a piece of the pie she had waited so long to eat, I figured she would dive right in. When I sat down next to her, she turned to me and said, “Dad, I just want the crust.”

“What?!” I said, surprised that such a statement was coming from a four-year-old—much less a four-year-old who happens to be my daughter. “Um, why don’t you tell Mama about your request.”

“Mom,” Fiona called out to Susan, “can you eat the blueberries off my pie?”

This may possibly go down as the strangest request Fiona has ever made.

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