PIE

“I’d like to have you over for dessert tonight,” she said with a smile.

“Well, isn’t that sweet. I’d love to,” he replied.

“Great. It'll be great having you over for pie.” She licked her lips in anticipation.

“Yes,” he answered, giving her a strange look. “You said as much. Just two seconds ago.”

“I thought about having you over for dinner,” she leered, “but no, I’d like to have you over for pie.”

“Now, um, you keep using that same phrasing,” he said hesitantly, “which is odd, because in my mind, it’s open to interpretation. You could be saying you want me over to EAT pie, but it could also be implied that you’re asking me over so you can eat me AS pie.”

“I can’t wait to see your face,” she grinned, “As I present the finished pie and serve up a nice big slice.”

“Oh,” he sighed, relaxing. “See my face. Sure, well if you’ll see my face as you bring out the pie, then clearly, I won’t be part of the pie, right? I know it's ridiculous, but I'm just wanting to make sure we're absolutely clear on that. Okay. Sounds good. Let’s do it.”

“I just hope you’re not too fatty,” she muttered as they headed for her house. “I’m trying to cut out fats.”

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. “It was nothing.”