My favorite Thanksgiving story happened when I was about 6- we had just moved into our current house and finished renovating our kitchen. Anyways, the holidays roll around and my mom- a determined young woman- wants to bake the pie herself, from scratch- not buy the ingredients or take a trip down he road to Missy's.
So I'm a little 6 year old, innocently watching the annual Thanksgiving Day parade with my dad, when all of a sudden we hear a loud "Fuck!" coming from the kitchen. Of course at this time, I'm that annoying youngster who is all, "put a quarter in the swear jar"- so my dad and I decide to count all of the ones she says while she makes the pies.
Later on at our friend's house- the same one mentioned previously- the pie is served, and everyone is complimentary of it, but being a 6 year old I thought it my job to tell them what ingredients went in to the pies. I get up to say guess what.. and then tell that story... yes flour, sugar, pumpkin, eggs, and at the end I say,
"Guess how many F-bombs there were?"
Ray responds, "How many?"
I say, "450"
and then we all look at April (my mom) and they all thought it was the cutest things ever... of course at this point I only remember parts of this happening, but every year I am reminded of this silly little thing. Needless to say, my mom is forever fired from bringing pies to our friend's house.
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