What is that, you ask?
That is a piece of homemade, straight from Mama's recipe from 1965 apple pie. It is seven weight watcher points. It wants my body.
Well, at least it wants my digestive system.
I refuse to eat it.
It will sleep under its tin foil blanket until hubs comes along like a foraging bear and eats it.
What is that, you ask?
Temptation.
And I'm not going to let it win.
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