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| Paragliding in the Swiss Alps |
Talk to my parents and they'll tell you. Megan was never domesticated. As a child my father discouraged me from doing any activities that were stereotypical of the female sphere. I was fashioned into a perfect tom-boy. A gymnast first, then a kick-boxer and I even had a short, boy hair-cut to boot. My dad taught me that there was nothing I couldn't do. And I believed him. From black belts to full scholarships to college, I knew I could beat the boys just like I did in elementary school when I whooped all of them at arm-wrestling. In the first 25 years of my life I did so many things. I paraglided in the Alps, cave-tubed in the jungles of Belize, read poetry at Emily Dickinson's grave, stood inside the Coliseum, climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower, drank wine in a German castle, went zip-lining in Kauai, kayaked in the Grand Cayman, earned a bachelors, masters, and credential. I bought my own home, survived being a target of a gang initiation, and even managed to fall down an entire flight of concrete stairs without breaking a single bone. But there was one thing I hadn't done. I had never learned how to cook.
And then it happened. I met someone. Not just someone but the man I am now in love with. And guess what? He loves pie.
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| My first pie--raspberry deliciousness! |
In the first few months of our relationship I baked him cookies--mostly peanut butter and chocolate chip. I knew how to do that at least. But pies? Well, I had made a pumpkin pie and an apple pie a few times before (and usually with the help of my sister who is far more domesticated than I am). Five months into our relationship I was on summer break (I'm an English teacher), and I decided I would finally learn how to make a pie. So for my boyfriend's 30th birthday I baked him a raspberry pie. I now know what was missing in my life for 26 years.
