Hang on to Your Hats…

Since I put in that new wood floor at my house a while back, I’ve help out putting in some other ones. I’ve gotten to be a half way decent hand at installing wood and laminate floors. So when a buddy called me up last week to ask my help installing the new floor at his place I told him sure. He did all the ripping up of the old floor and got the trim off the walls so all I had to do was show up and help lay the floor.

He asked me to show up at 8:00 and I joking asked him what was for breakfast. He asked what I wanted. I told him the usual (biscuits, gravy, scrambled eggs). He said his wife would be happy to fix it for me but they didn’t have the makings. So I brought my own sausage and farm fresh eggs.

Anyway I got my breakfast and he got his new dinning room and kitchen floor. It looks pretty nice and he should have his trim back up this weekend. His wife knows that I love pie. Mostly that’s it, I love pie. There is one pie that I love more than the others, pecan.

The problem with pecan pie is that I’ve found that only one kind of women in the world can fix it proper: the southern grandmother. For whatever reason there is a gene found in the best examples of southern womanhood that kicks in after they become grandparents that causes them to create the best pecan pie. This is a scientific fact.

My buddy’s wife was so grateful that we got her floor done and that it looked fantastic that she made me a special treat. (I’m sure he got his own special treat too). You guessed it pecan pie. It was awesome, it’s also half gone. Here’s the part you need to set down for and hold onto your hat. Not only is she under 45 years old and nowhere near being a grandmother. She isn’t from the south. (gasp) She’s originally from (brace yourself) Minnesota.

I don’t want to go making unfounded accusations about anybodies mama. But the pie don’t lie. There must be a redneck in the wood pile.