My Lemur Menagerie

Easter is always a fun time to share, and this year was no different. I love to make pies and pride myself in being able to throw together a fruit pie in nothing flat. I spend more time trying to figure which one to make than actually putting it together.

I offered to make a pie for a friend, a pie-loving maniac, and asked her what she wanted, and she said, “Whatever you want because we Iove all pies!” Good news. I went to the produce section and saw an incredible array of fruit and couldn’t make up my mind. She always answers my texts promptly, so I sent her a quick text, “How about apple-pear-blueberry?” I had made apple-blueberry many times and knew she liked it, but never added the pear component and thought I should check. You know, allergies, and personal likes, dislikes, etc. She has kids and kids can be picky.

The text back said: “I don’t think so.” I was kind of surprised, but it’s her pie, so I tried again, “How about peach-blueberry?” Peaches are not in season and little pricy, but it’s Easter and I could substitute a mango and she’d never know the difference. I was pretty set on blueberries, as l like them and they make for a colorful pie and I could eat the leftovers.

This time she didn’t answer immediately, but I had shopping to do, so prowled the store, stopping at the meat section. My evil brain thought mincemeat! She said anything and still hadn’t answered my text. It was very tempting. On the other hand, I wanted to keep her as my friend, so I moved back to the produce section. I was still waiting for my cellphone to chime but she still hadn’t responded, so I texted her again, “Are you home?”

“Why would you say that? I’m fine, both Jim and I are homeless.” The answer came back, quickly.

This was a shocker, so I texted back, “You and Jim are homeless? What happened?”

“Oops, auto correct, we’re home, not homeless.”

“Whew, but what about the pie? I’m at the store. Are you okay with peach-blueberry?” I persisted.

“Bleached blueberries? What are they bleached with? I don’t think we want any pies this year.”

I pushed my cart to the side of the potato display and looked at the past few text exchanges. My mistake, maybe. In the first exchange, I had typed blueberries and my grammatical friend Auto Correct changed it to beryllium, a poison, then Auto changed home to homeless and peach to bleach. It was quite a conversation. I blamed it on Auto Correct, but it could have been my crooked fingers or crooked brain, hitting the wrong keys. I needed to be more careful.

I ended up making her a lemon meringue pie (tossing in a handful of blueberries) and when it texted her to tell her it was ready, the words lemur menagerie stared at me from the screen. I wonder what Auto could do with the word mincemeat.

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