My Cardboard Balcony

There was one slice of pumpkin pie left in the fridge, and I wasn't going to eat it. I didn't like pumpkin. In fact, I had baked a pie all for myself that Thanksgiving, since no one else liked to eat chocolate cream pie. I took great pains to make the wafer crust and the filling, so as Hank and Amelia charged down the stairs, I let them squabble over the last frivolous chunk of pumpkin confection as I happily worked my way through another piece of cacao goodness.