Pie plight

Friends were dropping by for a potluck this evening, and I was to provide for the pie. Yesterday, I knocked several delicate and diminutive orange plums from an ancient tree near the farthest edge of this house-sit's enormous backyard. This morning, I rose, made a to-do list, which included making pie crusts and pitting the two dozen plums, arranging them in the pie crust and carefully weaving a pastry lattice across the top. I carefully set the timer for twenty-five minutes and went to put my feet up. When I heard the bell, I went to the kitchen and was surprised by the strong smell. The beautiful lattice was black and the plums were sizzling noisily. I had set the unfamiliar oven to "broil".

I glanced at the clock. 3:45. My guests were due at five. I grabbed the pole which normally opens and closes the skylights and pelted across the backyard. I swiped at the high branches of the plum tree while amber balls of ripe fruit plummeted to the ground around me with muffled thumps. I tore back to the kitchen, mixed a new pastry together and pitted plums precipitously, tossing in the other ingredients in rather the wrong order and weaving the lattice with rather less care.

The second pie, still a bit over-baked but definitely presentable, was ready shortly after five. The phone rang. My guests would not be arriving until seven.

Y'know, this summer is beginning to wear a bit...