Just pie

So I am back from my "retreat" having discovered (yet again) a couple of things: No, I will not be moving back to Los Angeles anytime soon. And, at the present time, I am not ready to take on any kind of religious activities. Some high-(and low)lights:

1. My friend Kathy invited me over for diner. This included baking a pie, since she is a great lover of all things baking. She told me she was going to be making a chest pie about which I was rather excited since I had never eaten one before and the name did sound alluring.
What's in it?
It's a pie made of sugar and eggs and butter.
So it's a pie with nothing in it?
That was not the reception, I think, she was hoping for. Upon my arrival, the pie was still baking in the oven.
How's the chest pie?
The what?
The chest pie.
It's a CHESS pie.
A chess pie?
She had to spell it out for me. It comes from the southern vernacular, as in, "we're just having pie for dinner." Just pie. The chest pie, or chess pie or just pie was intensely sweet, like a pecan pie but without the pecans. It went well with blackberries.

After dinner I was looking through her CDs while she was doing the dishes. (I know, I know, what kind of guest am I?)
Are you cold?
No.
You're not cold?
No!
You're not cold?!
No, why is there a window open?
I said full! You're not full?
Despite the misunderstandings, the arguments we got into over the movies Spanglish (no, it wouldn't have been a better movie if they had gotten together in the end) and Closer, and all the white cat hair on my black dress, I had a good time and a full belly.

2. My family is a family of performers. And we're not talking like those first born attention-seekers. They are improv actors, they DO comedy, they tell jokes, they know magic tricks. They are in the business of making people laugh, and I mean, every waiter at every restaurant in which my family can be found. (I once counted how many times "that's what she said" was uttered on Xmas. The number neared one hundred.) In the family hierarchy, it is my job to either laugh or be the sullen lump in the corner.

There was a pool party for my sister's birthday. Everyone was in top form that day (as usual) having just come off their sketch show, Christians vs. Jews from the night before. We were in the sauna. All day I had been half happy to seem them and half a complete wreck, because both my sisters are happily married wives, one with adorable children and one with a husband who is not only funny but employed and handy. After 20 minutes of banter in the sauna, I come out with: Man, it's like a sauna in here. There was a moment of absolute shock and bewilderment before a couple of them actually laughed. Yes, Casey never tells jokes around her family because the competition is fierce. While I can whip them all in Boggle, my humiliation knows no bounds when we have to play those modern charade-based games. Fortunately, this was a day without them and I only had to lock myself in the bathroom to weep inconsolably once.