just add the filling

Many times in my life I've thought I wouldn't mind it if my life turned out like Anne Shirley's. The following story, however, was not exactly what I had in mind.

I was already running late. This, I knew. I was also running short. On cream cheese. One pumpkin cheesecake down and one to go, I mixed the filling and dashed to the store, well aware that I was going to run smack dab into the five o'clock honey-what's-for-dinner? rush at the neighborhood market. I grabbed three packages of cream cheese and stepped in line just in front of my across-the-street-neighbor. (If only I had known she was headed to the market. I could have avoided this whole kerfuffle.) We waited in line while the credit card of the woman in front of us was declined, updating each other on the latest goings on in our Avonlea. Minutes tick-tocking away, I sped home, whipped up the cream cheese and went to add the layer of pumpkin to the second pumpkin cheesecake.

What happened next was very Anne-forgot-to-put-the-cheese-cloth-over-the-plum-pudding-sauce-so-a-mouse-climbed-in-to-take-a-final-bath (min. 5:45). While I was on my grocery getaway, a fly thought that he needed to test my pumpkin filling. I found him belly up, legs twitching in the pumpkin sauce. "I suppose in the end, it was a romantic way to perish...for a (fly)."

The "Oh no's" of moments before turned to "Oh well's" as I looked at the clock and realized I barely had time enough to bake the thing, let alone whip up another batch of pumpkin filling. So, I fished out that fly, said silent prayers of forgiveness (one for killing the fly, another because I didn't plan to tell a soul about it) and popped the pan in the oven. Thirty-five minutes later, I arrived to the activity with two cheesecakes, well aware of which one had been de-flied on the fly.

I imagine there's still time for bike races to the bridge, diamond sunbursts and marble halls. For notes signed, "your chum" and teary scenes at train stations. There is the part where Anne writes, "Averil's Atonement." Dear Diana edits the details about baking a cake. Maybe a Rolling's Reliable Baking Powder Company contest is on the horizon.

*To any and all girls who consumed said cheesecake, it was baked at 375 degrees. I think we're safe. (Right?)