Cake: 1,000,000; Pie, 10

Maybe I'm exaggerating—a little. But there is no contest in the contest between cake and pie.

The other day, while I was doing some chores, a soap opera just happened to be on. In the scene from One Life to Live, a boy sat at the counter of a Paris, Texas, diner, preparing to judge a pie-making competition between the diner's owner and a waitress. She spoke in her southern drawl, claiming to be from Texarkana and having legitimate southern piemaking roots. And the diner owner, as they are wont to do, threatened to fire her. He told the boy to be completely honest.

At this point, I stopped folding laundry and looked up to see the face of this innocent kid, who said, and I think I have it exact, "I'm sorry. But I just don't like pie. I like cake."

I whooped and hollered. I yelled, "Atta boy!" I raised my fist to the sky.

Now if only I could count on soap opera children to read my book.

that time of year again

See the Operation Fruitcake web site here.

(And don't ask me what I was doing at the Bill Me Later web site.)