Some people have a soft spot for stray puppies and kittens. Others give money or food to panhandlers; no questions asked. Still others always have a cookie for a small child. One friend of mine always manages to come up with a box of clothes for a new mom.

Me? I feel sorry for day-old baked goods.

I mean really, just look at them. One day old and suddenly they’re half price like there’s something wrong with them. I have children! I’m lucky to eat food that’s only a day old! Heck, I’m lucky to eat at all.

Pretty, pretty baked goods… in danger of being thrown away like so much trash, just because the baker overestimated yesterday’s demand. Is this the fault of the little cakes? The buns? The donuts?? There’s so much sadness in the world, already. Must needless pastricide weigh on my soul as well? No. It shall not.

All of which is a very roundabout way of explaining why I am eating sweet potato pie. In August. It’s an act of supreme altruism, really.

Stop looking at me like that.