You want whipped cream with that?

There is a charming little shop in my hometown called the Pie Hole. It immediately brought to mind thoughts of this show:

I may have squealed. A PIE HOLE?? Right here in my little town? Visions of bright colors, quirky waitresses, and cute pie-makers filled my imagination.

Cherry pie actually is my favorite! How did he know?

I drove past The Pie Hole several times and noticed that it was open until 5am. More romanticizing began. How awesome would it be, after all, to get a slice of pie in the middle of the night? There would be gingham! And dollops of ice cream! And I would probably get called "Hon", which I don't generally like, but seems to fit in a pie shop.

So for weeks I dreamed of having a reason to be up in the middle of the night and hungry for pie. I told my husband we should just go some night, just go like crazy teenagers in love who didn't care about proper nights sleep or indigestion.

He was totally down with that, but then we kept falling asleep too early.

Finally, my time came. In my town, there is also an awesome theater that has midnight movies for a dollar on the weekends. My husband and I decided to go, so of course we planned on a pie-eating stop on the way home.

The first thing I noticed as we pulled up in front of The Pie Hole was the drunk people. Lots of drunk people. And the place was bumpin', which didn't fit my fantasy of a romantic pie-for-two date.

Nevertheless, I was undaunted. I had primed my belly for pie, and by dang, I was GOING TO GET MY PIE.

We wove our way through who I assume was the entire starting lineup of the local college's football team, loitering on the front stoop of the shop, and stepped through the doors.

Loud music blasted our ears. Bright, graffiti-ed walls seared neon colors onto my retinas. The waitress, who was NOT wearing a gingham apron, was wearing a trucker hat with devil horns and sporting some very impressive cleavage. I looked at my husband. He said, "It smells like beer in here."

Beer and pie didn't make much sense to me, but whatever.

I pulled my husband through the shop to the counter and looked up at the menu, and then I realized...




...this was a pizza joint.

A PIZZA JOINT!!! Seriously?

I didn't want pizza in the middle of the night! Heartburn, people! I'm old now! I have to think of these things!

We left.

And I've been craving cherry pie ever since.

Moral of the story?

First off, seriously have a notebook with you at all times, because The Pie Hole would make an awesome setting in a story and I should have written down all the details.

Second, make sure the details in your story aren't too vague. I feel that you don't have to describe each room down to the brass knobs on the cupboards, but a few well-defined touches brings the whole place to life.

Beer, loud music, brightly painted skateboards doubling for the seat backs of booths, devil hat=obviously a pizza place.

Quirky china plates, gingham aprons, gleaming checkered floor, and sweet little bouquets at each table=my Pie Hole. Let your reader know where they are before they get confused. (Also, if they bothered to peek in the window before they actually went in, all the better for them.)

And third, a pepperoni pizza painted on a shop window can easily be misconstrued as a cherry pie. It's okay.  I won't make fun of you if you make that mistake. (Unlike my parents, who knew the truth about the Pie Hole and didn't tell me.)