2216. Blackberry pie for Herb

Blackberry pie was Patricia’s thing. It wasn’t really blackberry pie; it was more a custard pie with a handful of blackberries scattered on top. She had made it for years, and for every occasion. Only once, when fresh or frozen blackberries were not available, had she resorted to blueberries. It was not the same. She vowed to make blackberry pie or nothing.

 Patricia’s husband Herb wasn’t overly fond of blackberry pie. He used to like it, especially in the first flushes of love, but now after quite a few years the novelty had worn thin and he craved variety. He would still eat a slice when the occasion called for it. And he knew how to pretend delight.

 It was this attribute of Herb’s that Patricia was relying on. He was sure to devour with fake enthusiasm the slice she had poisoned.

37 thoughts on “2216. Blackberry pie for Herb

  1. Catxman

    My diet is going well. I have just a little flab left to lose. I think it’ll take place by September 14. (The fat goes off the entire body before it leaves the gut.)

    But when it goes, I think I’ll have me some blueberry pie. Or a blueberry danish from 7-Eleven. Cheers!

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Herb

    Could there be a better way to die
    Than by eating blackberry pie?

    I never even tasted the poison.

    Er, don’t tell my wife Margaret that my other wife poisoned me or I’ll be dead all over again.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Yvonne

    BA, could you please add my new favourite word into one of your tales of disaster? Thank you.

    The word is xenodochial.

    (Our PM is not xenodochial to refugees.)_



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