(A True, Short Holiday Story)
I had never tasted pumpkin pie.
On my 33rd Christmas, my Grandmother (rest her beautiful soul) made her famous Pumpkin Pie and I swore I was going to taste it.
Come time for dessert, the entire family holds off, anxiously waiting for me to serve myself a slice. I took a thin sliver of pie - I didn't want to be wasteful if it wasn't to my liking - and lifted a small bite towards my mouth as the family stared on excitedly. And...
I hated it.
I mean, like, really hated it.
But I didn't have it in me to tell my 90-year-old Grandmother that I didn't like her famous pie, much less in front of her children and grandchildren on Christmas Eve.
So...I said it tasted wonderful and - grateful I had served a small portion - I scooped up the rest and swallowed it down.
The rest of the family then happily made their plates, serving themselves heaping portions of Grandma's delicious pumpkin pie. As everyone dug in, my Aunt furrowed her brows in confusion, her nose turned up in distaste as she asked "Mom? Did you remember to put sugar in the pie?"
Suffice it to say, that was the Christmas that my family learned the lengths I would personally go to to spare their feelings.
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