TOD:
Oh dear, well, I guess since we are all pretty chummy around here, I can tell you all about the "Boysenberry Pie" incident. I was in 7th grade, I suppose it was -- and my church youth group had this annual trip to Disneyland. In addition to going to Disneyland, this particular trip, we also made a dinner outing to Mrs. Knott's Chicken Dinner Restaurant at Knott's Berry Farm. If you haven't been there, basically it is a homestyle dinner sort of 7 course meal.
Bread, salad, soup, entree, sides, dessert, etc. Tons of food, all in all. You order everything at the beginning, so they just keep bringing things out -- you've forgotten what all you've gotten, so it's a constant surprise.
Well, I gorged my way through all of the food - totally forgetting that dessert was on its way. I was right at that "good amount of full," where you are happily content, but can't stomach (pun!) another round. Then came the pie.
I had ordered the Boysenberry pie -- one of their "specialties" there...and they bring out this big slice of pie with ice cream and set it in front of me. So, I obviously can't rationalize not having at least a bite, so I take one bite of the pie - very good - and decide that's it for the evening. Now, unfortunately I had been seated by one of our chaperones, Todd, who was just like one of the kids. He sees me not finishing my pie, and utters the now-infamous phrase, "C'mon Cason - eat the pie!"
And before you know it, he starts chanting "Eat the pie! Eat the pie! Eat the pie!" And this chanting spreads like wildfire - first, our section of this huge table where all of our group was sitting; then down the whole table; and to some of the tables of the other patrons. The whole room is sitting there chanting, "EAT THE PIE! EAT THE PIE! EAT THE PIE!"
So, naturally, I couldn't defy the crowd, so I gobbled down the rest of the pie to cheers and catcalls from everyone. And that point, I was over-stuffed, but the pride outweighed the bloat.
When we got back to the church we were spending the night at, I was pretty miserable and uncomfortable, but tried to will myself to sleep. I kept tossing and turning and knew I wasn't getting to sleep anytime soon...and then I felt it. I jumped up and ran outside and revisited Mrs. Knott's Chicken Dinner on the sidewalk...
But the best part was one of the girls on the trip came out to see what all the fuss was about as some of the chaperones helped diffuse the situation and she was highly amused by the hue of the expectorated dinner and affectionately called me "Pinky" for several years thereafter...
