A Race for the P.Pie

My sister, Tintin, and her husband, Esq., carry Costco size cartons of cheese crackers in the back seats of their cars. No, they don’t have a huge snack fetish.

They give them to ‘homeless’ people.

I put homeless in quotes because it is my opinion that not all who ask for money are homeless. In fact, Esq. once told me that the crackers were a good barometer on a person’s need; if they took the crackers, they were truly hungry; if not, they were just looking for money.

I am not much of a philanthrope. On occasion, I will make a donation to a group that warrants it. Much of what is given comes in the form of household goods - food drives, coat drives, clothes drive… you get the picture.

And this is not my attempt to make apologies, amends, or in any way alter my behavior or your view of my behavior. But, my 18-week pregnant P.Pie got up at 5:30 in the morning, braving temperatures hovering around the freezing mark, and walked around downtown Denver in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure.

If you are the giving type, you can click here to give to the cause, or you can give to your local SGKRftC.

She has done this for the last several years and I applaud her dedication.

And just to prove that this isn’t some attempt to make me look better – I didn’t go. I didn’t go for two reasons:

1). I rode my motorcycle down to Colorado Springs (the Springs, for those in the know) to watch an Ultimate Fighting Championship-style match with some of my biker brethren. I didn’t get back home until midnight and didn’t get to sleep until nearly one.

2). I didn’t want to go.

As the saying goes, “On the internet, no one knows who you are.” I’m telling you this to show that I’m not pulling any punches. I don't want to pretend otherwise.

This is just who I am.

P.Pie is the really good person. I'm hoping it rubs off.