Last Piece

I felt like having some pie, so I pulled it out.
Me: Uh oh, only one piece left. Who's gonna get it?
Austin: You can cut in half, then we could each have a piece.

Pear Pie

Austin was in the shower when I cut the pear pie. I took my piece up to his room.
Me: Do you want a bite or do you want a piece of your own?
Austin: I just want a little taste.
Austin took the fork, cut a teeny bit off.
Austin: Mmmmm.
He took another bite, bigger this time.
Austin: That's really good.

Flour

Me: Pear pie's in the oven. We ran out of flour while I was making the crumble.
Austin: *gasp* What will we do!
Me: I subbed cake flour.
Austin: We have every kind of flour out there.
Me: Close. We have masa, cake flour, self-rising flour and Bisquik.
Austin: What other flours are there?
Me: All-purpose, wheat, graham-
Austin: Wait so I can write these down.

Nom Nom Nom

I bought a couple of things for Austin from a rummage sale today.
Austin: Thank you for the gifts.
Me: It's always tough when I spend 75¢ on my husband.
Austin: That's all? Seventy-five cents?
Me: Yeah, twenty-five for the book, fifty for the boxers.
Austin: Well, it would mean just as much if you spent hundreds of dollars. You can have my blood, all of it.
Me: I want your heart.
Austin: You have it.
Me: I want to eat it.
Austin: You do. Over and over again. It's chewy. Nom, nom, nom. Now my liver, you can't have that.
Me: I don't want your liver. Liver tastes disgusting.

Spread

Me: The spread's seal just came off when I opened it, but the stuff never goes on sale and it didn't look like it was tampered with, so I ate some anyway. It seems fine. But if I die suddenly of poison, it was the spread.
Austin: I want some too.
Me: There's some left. You can have some.
Austin: But if it's poison, they can't test it.
Me: There's plenty left. Just make sure you leave enough so scientists can test the spread if we both happen to get poisoned.

Bitter Potion

Watching Forensic Files, Bitter Potion, the profile of the murderer: Highly intelligent, white male-mid 30s, resolves conflict without confrontation, reads about murders, watches violent movies, fantasizes about murder. Me & Austin, our eyes lock.
Me: That's you, bub. You could be the murderer.
Austin: I don't fantasize about committing murder.
Me: And yet you've mentioned how you're going to kill me a few dozen times.

Cilantro

Austin grumped and grumped that he wanted cilantro this year, but I haven't been able to find any reasonably priced. Mom brought in a couple of plants and set them on the stoop for us a few weeks ago. And my thing lately has been, “If he wants to do it, he has to do it himself. I'm not doing it for him.”

Mom: I'm going to take the cilantro plants and plant them in my own yard if you don't plant them soon.

Austin: I have to plant them? In my yard?

Mom: Yes.

Austin: This year?