There was a time that I loved pecan pie.  I say this in the past tense, because one day, when I was 11, I fervently ate an entire Marie Calendar's pecan pie.  I stood in the kitchen, gazing into the belly of the dessert that lay, untouched, in front of me.  I knew it was intended for our Sunday dinner guests, but the thought of eating it conforted me.  Stealing the dessert wasn't a very Christian thing to do. Maybe that is why I did it.  I crushed  the pecans in my teeth, suckeling the bittersweet oil from their flesh and skin.  I was gone.  It was like my body had a pecan deficiencey and I couldn't consume enough to satiate it.  After the last sticky forkful left my lips, a slumped onto the couch, nodding like a junkie.  Delusions of Sugarplum demons danced on my head.  I slipped into a long, indolent sleep.

Marie is an evil temptress.