Don't let gramma bake

My second favorite memory from Thanksgiving. (my aunt reminded me today)

One year my aunt and I were on dessert duty. I had brought two delicious pies that my dad's ex girlfriend made, we'll call her dirtbag for short. Anyway, my grandpa wouldn't let me bring the pies into the kitchen. He insisted I leave them in the laundry room. It seemed bizzare but I just did what he asked. Then the truth came out-- my poooooor grandma tried to make pumpkin pie. My grandpa wanted to make sure everyone ate it so he had me hide the good pies. I'm not sure exactly what she put in it or why it was watery and half frozen but...

While my aunt and I were serving the pie we noticed how disgusting it looked so we buried each piece under four inches of whip cream. Then I went and got the good pie out of the laundry room and her and I ate that pie. We sat in the kitchen cracking up watching everyone else choke down the disgusting pie. It was great! I love you gramma but cooking is not one of your talents. And yes I did inherit her horrible cooking skills.