June 12, 2013 —
She was the prettiest girl I had ever known. We were freshmen in high school and she asked me to be her boyfriend.
Soon thereafter, I was putty in her hands. It was my first romance and I was one happy dude.
Her dad picked her up from school one day and asked me about coming to the pie supper that night.
A pie supper?
I had never heard of such a thing but I said “yes” because she kept smiling at me. She whispered the location and the time.
I ran home to find out about pie suppers. My grandmother explained that it was an old country tradition to raise money for a church or other good cause.
Men and boys bid on pies baked by their wives or sweethearts and if you lost, it meant you didn’t really like the cook. I didn’t want to lose so I took a $20 bill out of my summer savings.
I hitch-hiked five miles to the place and she greeted me with a big kiss on the cheek as I sat down with other guys at a table loaded with pies.
I spotted her pie immediately. It didn’t look just right but I knew in my boyish heart that it would taste great.
Then I learned that the high bidder had to eat the pie as the baker lovingly watched.
The auctioneer picked up her pie and everyone turned to look at me. Many pies had sold for $5 or less.
I confidently opened at $5 and my sweetie smiled. This was going to be so easy.
A voice from the back of the room bid $6 and I countered with $7. Suddenly, the bid was $19 and it wasn’t mine. The sad look on her face turned to a huge smile when I flashed the $20 bill.