Banana Cream Pie Minis

So let’s talk boys and their pickup game, mmkay?

I am not a boy, and therefore, do not have “game.” I don’t pick anyone up, with the exception of my boyfriend who knows he’s hot stuff so he just lets it roll of his back like some sort of compliment-shield or something.

Also, even as a girl, I have tried to “pick up” guys, especially in high school when I desperately wanted them to be my boyfriend. But all I would do is walk up to them, say hi, and ask if they wanted to hang out later. If they said no, it was easy. If they said yes, then aces.

But boys–boys NEVER understand subtlety, nor do they understand the art of simplicity, contrary to popular belief. We ladies think that boys are Mr. Simpletons, walking around being simple and exuding effortlessness. Or whatever.

Not. The. Case.

See, when Jessie “picked me up” he didn’t really. And that’s what made me intrigued by him. One, we met on Facebook, so there was already that air of mystery–who is the man behind the profile picture? I want to know!! And second, he didn’t use traditional pickup terms that make most girls cringe and run in the opposite direction, calling the cops on speeddial. Ya hear me?

Like, “is your father an astronomer? ‘Cause I see a constellation in your eyes.” Or, “are you a burglar? ‘Cause you just stole my heart.”

While corny as hell, those lines don’t work. I am neither an astronomer’s daughter nor a burglar, and for the record, I have never been picked up with those. However, I couldn’t spare you guys a funny story and hold back the lines I have received. Behold: The Most Awkward Pick-Up Experience EVER.

EVER.

A few days ago, I was on campus walking to class when a lumberjackish fellow passed me by. He said, “Next time, don’t spit in my sandwich.” Confused, I turned around to see him staring at me and smiling. I said, “I’m sorry?” obviously perturbed that I could have possibly sprayed my saliva in his food somehow–either at work, where I make sandwiches, or at school, perhaps at a table we shared in the cafeteria.

“You work at that sandwich shop, right?” To which I replied, “yes.” To which he said, “I was just joking by the way. You didn’t spit in my sandwich.” To which I thought, “no sh*t I didn’t” but just smiled awkwardly and mumbled, “see ya around.” At this point, I was baffled and quite confused and actually became excited for British Lit class since depressed Victorian poets would get my mind off this weirdo sitch.

So fast forward to two days later, I was at work, washing lettuce and minding my own fancy business when I hear, “I’m looking for HER.” Seeing as I was the only female in the establishment, I turned my head and saw Mr. Plaid Flannel staring back at me. Thinking I’d make a joke out of it, I jokingly told my boss (a natural prankster with a good sense of humor), “spit in his sandwich for me!” and smiled and made a face to show I was joking and reciprocating his lame-ass line from two days prior.

My boss laughed and said, “Will do!” to which Scary Lumberjack quipped very seriously: “No. I want HER to spit in my sandwich.”

*cue extreme awkwardness* Let’s count the things less awkward and disgusting than this: thong shopping with your grandma; having your boyfriend count every cottage-cheesy dimple of cellulite on your thighs; walking in on your sibling doing something gross; when a little kid says something inappropriate, etc. In this moment, this topped those by a hundred-fold.

Because in this moment, not only did I have to be involved in this saliva-swapping shenanigan, but my coworkers, boss, and any other customer standing around now associated lil’ ol’ me with this funky, wood-choppin’, country-bumpkin’ freakshow who just so happened to use the worst pickup line in existence.

Beet red and wishing I could crawl into the furthermost hole of our restaurant, make a small home inside the drywall and live there for all eternity, eating small scraps of meat and day-old Dutch Crunch rolls, he topped off his awkward, loogy sundae with, “So, do you have a cellphone?”

….Um. Yeah, this is kind of awkward because I know it’s 2012 and all and cell phones are all the rage but seriously, I appreciate the thoughtfulness and anticipation of hand-written notes delivered from carrier pigeons. And mine recently died, so I’m afraid you can’t get ahold of me.

SERIOUSLY? DO I HAVE A CELLPHONE? What, am I churning butter over here with wooden shoes on? Of course I have a cellphone. And of course, now would be the time where I couldn’t quip anything remotely sarcastic/witty/funny back because I was so stunned at the stupidity and ridiculousness of this messy situation I’d somehow, unknowingly been thrown into, so instead, my body rebelled, I blushed uncontrollably, and had to muster, “Yeah, but I also have a boyfriend.”

But see, boys are usually tricky creatures. They’ll play you and say, “Oh, I didn’t mean like that. I meant like, as friends. I’m not looking or anything.” (Sure. And nuns read Cosmo and Snooki is a good actress. PLEASE)

But THANKFULLY, country-bumpkin’ didn’t seem advanced in his thinking, perhaps since he spent his brain power churning out his awkward, spitty one-liner and replied, “oh.”

And after I apologized (which I don’t know WHY I did since I’m def. NOT sorry I’m taken by the most amazing boy in the universe thankyouverymuch), he proceeded to ignore me even though I tried to make nice small-talk with him about school and stuff. Then he took his sandwich, left, and I became verbally abused with jokes from my coworkers about my socially-awkward, backwoods new “boyfriend” who has a penchant for girl spit.

Forreal.

And if that weren’t bad enough, a week later I was at Walmart chattin’ it up with my fave cashier (yes I have favorites, don’t you?) when a young lad approached me and proceeded to ask me if I “remembered him” and insisted we’ve seen each other around campus.

Uhhhhh I have nevah seen your face before IN MY LIFE. How the HELL would I remember someone I HAVEN’T SEEN BEFORE.

DUUUUUUUDE. Someone needs to whip some of these men into shape! I’m kinda sick of being hit on by weirdo, creepy dudes who insist I should “remember them” because we go to the same school (yeah, you, me and about TEN THOUSAND OTHER PEOPLE) or dudes who want me to orally poop in their sandwich. Doooon’t think so.

Where’d all the simple men go?! I have a simple treat for them if they promise to get their act together and hit on some girls in a classy (NOT creepy) fashion. Ya dig?

All guys like pie. FACT. And between you and I being hit on all the time and looking sexy as hell, we need simple in our lives, too. FACT. So let’s put two and two together, shall we? <(not a good pickup line)

These are Banana Cream Pie Minis. They are what they claim to be. Miniature bits of pie heaven. And whether or not you’re being bombarded with freakshows or hotties, you should make them for yourself and the man in your life that picked you up… or who will. You’ll both be guaranteed to enjoy. Meow!

Banana Cream Pie Minis

1 pkg refrigerated sugar cookie dough, at room temperature
1 small box (sugar free/fat free) banana cream instant pudding
1 & 1/2 cups milk
1/2 container (about 1 cup) Cool Whip, thawed
24 banana slices

1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F. Liberally grease a miniature muffin tin with cooking spray. Unwrap your cookie dough and pull off about Tablespoon-sized portions of dough. Gently press the dough into each muffin tin. It should just about come to the top of each muffin cavity–don’t overfill them.
2. Bake the cups for about 10 minutes, checking for doneness around the 8-minute mark. When cups are done they should pass the toothpick test and should be light golden brown. Remove from the oven and allow to cool about 5-10 minutes in the pan; then, using the end of a wooden spoon, gently push into the center of each cup, careful not to pierce through the whole cup. You just want to create a well in the center of each cookie cup. Using a butter knife, run the knife tip along the edge of the cavity to release the cookie cups. Allow them to cool completely on a wire-rack.
3. In a large, pourable bowl (like a 4-cup measuring cup or likewise), whisk together the pudding mix and milk for about 30 seconds. Working quickly, pour the pudding mixture (only about a 1/2 tsp-1 tsp each cup) into the center of each cooled cookie cup. You may have leftover pudding; eat it or whatever, I don’t care.
4. Now, top each pudding-filled cup with a dollop of Cool Whip. For this, I used my small cookie dough scoop to perfectly portion the whipped cream on top of each cookie cup. Top the whipped cups with a banana slice.
5. Allow the cups to chill in the fridge for at least an hour before serving. Best served the same day.

Let’s recap: sugar cookie cups. Creamy banana pudding. Fluffy whipped cream. Fresh naners. Yup, this is heavenly and it feels oh so right.

Have a wonderful Monday!

xo, Hayley

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Comments

  1. Seriously? He actually thought spitting in his sandwich was a good pick-up line? Poor guy. I don’t know who I feel more sorry for, him or the lady that actually falls for that. Your a genius with these pies…These are a must make!!

  2. hahahahahahahahahaha!!! Good story. And these tiny little banana cream pies are definitely being filed away for some future picture perfect social gathering.

  3. Well, if you weren’t so cute, you wouldn’t have to worry about getting hit on all of the time! =) But really, who thinks talking about spitting in someone’s sandwich is a good pick-up line?!?! This guy needs some serious dating help.

    I’m loving these tiny little pies. You know, ’cause I could eat 3 or 4 of them at a time, ’cause “mini” stuff doesn’t really count, calorie-wise.

    • It doesn’t count! I agree with your logic, as well as most women, methinks. I mean, if my boyfriend can pound down a HUGE Chipotle burrito and a slice from Cheesecake Factory within an hour period and STILL not gain an ounce, I’m pretty sure eating five of these don’t count calorie-wise either.

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