My mom, the Big Factotum: SH, do you want that last piece of pie?*
At the Broadmoor, where "summer" is a verb. But where it still is not warm enough to take wedding photos outside on January 2. The bride's friends must really love her.
SH: No, I think one is enough.
Me: Maybe you can save it for after you get back from skiing tomorrow.**
SH: Maybe I can dibs it.
BF: Nope. There is no dibbsing in this house. You have to eat it now or else.
SH: What do you mean, there's no dibbsing?
BF: It's first come, first served. CF and her father used to get up at midnight to race each other to the leftover pizza.***
* The amazing apple pie that my Aunt Mary Ann made for dessert on Friday, probably the best I've ever had in my life and that includes the apple pie with the cheddar cheese in the crust that we had in Rockport, Mass, a few years ago. Mary Ann's pie had cinnamon, allspice, cloves, and cardamom as seasonings and she puts in vinegar in the crust for extra flakiness. SH says his mother's pie is right up there, but he has to say that. I don't. She's not my mom.
** SH is going to Denver on Sunday to ski with a friend of his. My mom and I feel abandoned, of course.
*** Which is why I instituted the dibs rule in my own house. Duh. I hate being up at midnight and I hate eating that late. But one does what one must.