One of my close friends, Alana, is a fabulous cook. So last night, when we had a small collection of close friends over for games and gabbing, she brought a delectable apple tart.
We had settled down to play an eight person game, but because there were 10 people playing, Mike and I were on a single team, as were Alana and David. Halfway through, we decided it was time for dessert. So, cutting slices for the gathered group, Alana handed be the first piece, a rather large section.
“This is pretty big,” she warned, handing me the plate.
“That’s alright,” I responded. “I’ll share with Mike.”
Taking the fork in hand, I delved into the slice. It was, as expected, delicious. One bite … two bites … five bites … As Mike shuffled around our cards and took our turn, I relished the sweetness of the crust coupled with the apples’ tang. With all but two small bites left, Mike snagged a crumb before I finished off the “pretty big” slice.
Our turn over, Mike was paying more attention to the piece of pie that he’d missed out on. Noting the now empty plate, he stood up, determined to get his own slice.
When he came back, a few minutes later, his plate empty except for a small dollop of whipped cream, I asked, “Where’s your piece?”
“It’s all gone!” he said.
Ooops … “Er, sorry about that. Well, it was really good … Is that any consolation?”
“No,” he said. “It’s not.”