Rebecca Barry: Pie by any other name is never the same

Dear Georgie Pie,

Thank you for the years of crunchy pastry and reconstituted cow you brought into our lives, the birthday party when I turned 5.

Thanks for the small, square, mince pie with the thick corners that came in the white paper bag.

It came to mind at news of your possible comeback, via Facebook and on line.

Thanks for the fries we shoved into the pies and dropped in the car, attracting flies.

Thanks for the pie that came after the pie, the sweet one that left me holding my sides.

When we weren't doing drive-through Georgie Pie or sliding down the plastic slide outside, we'd put a few hours aside, sit in a plastic booth with our plastic tray stacked with plastic knives and fries and those pies with plastic cheese inside.

Thanks for replacing the pies that slid off the tray and splattered all over the floor as I cried.

Thanks for the free Buzz Bar sundae when the static from the seat and a sip of Coke singed the hairs on my thighs.

It was hard to say goodbye. Your autumn colours turned gold like a false summer, the Georgie Pie sign changed to that huge, upside-down butt, a reminder of what we'd become should we return too often.

We had nowhere traditional to take our Irish cousins when they stayed.

Top o' the morning, shall we go to McDonald's for breakfast? No thanks, they don't do pies.

We tried to get that feeling of ordering fresh Georgie Pie at the petrol station but it was not to be reprised.

The wrappers were all wrong. The meat was lumpy. Then came the gourmet pie, an oxymoron in a box.

It thought it was so flash with its white sauce and vegetables. Celery and carrot. They must have been high.

We didn't have to queue to get our paper bags of hot pies, washed down with L&P and soft-serve icecream spooned out with fries. We'd take them out of the freezer, nuke them in the microwave and chew on pastry that had gone dry, rocking in the corner, tears in our eyes.

Remember that rumour you could buy pies in the supermarket that tasted just like yours? You couldn't. All lies.

You may have heard we're in a recession, so I'd like to ask you to come back and bring your value deals with you, including the one where if you buy a pie and fries, it costs less than a pie. There are other options, I realise. There's talk of a bike trail.

Could we not extend it through the Georgie Pie drive-through? Could we at least try?

Even though the bank is giving millions of dollars away at the touch of an ATM button, imagine how well fed the populous would be if you returned.

We could supplement our diet with something real and hearty, something hot from the bosom of the land, something for everyone: Pakeha, Maori, Asians, PIs.

Instead of dining on 60-volt seats we could have our pie and exercycle too; Sarah Ulmer could man the tills on opening day with a new slogan: Want a pie? Get on the ground and gimme five.

Telethon is coming back. Mellow Yellow came back. Why not you, Georgie frickin' Pie? The professor who says we're each responsible if we double in size is basically saying we should put an end to being victims. I say we need to compromise.

You can definitely survive only on Georgie Pie but that's inviting the wrath of the Super Size Me guy.

Although there was that other guy who flew from Manukau to Christchurch last year just to eat a Georgie Pie at the one-day-only-Georgie Pie restaurant. He probably books two seats when he flies.

I miss you, small square mince Georgie Pie. I miss the way you get all steamy when I take your top off.

I miss that you were cheaper to put on my Weet-Bix than milk.

Things were different when Ronald came along but I really think we can make a go of this, even if you've changed your name to Georgie McPie.

My friends say you're no good for me, that you're just like all the other pies, they've tried to warn me about your protein to jelly ratio.

I know the Georgie Pie revolution will not be televised, that you won't get an endorsement from Paris Hilton.

I'm just asking you to remember the song on the ad and try not to shed a tear. I want you to know that I caaare, I want you to know that I'm theeere. I also want you to know that once the novelty wears off, I would not be surprised if I only buy two Georgie Pies a year.