Grocery aisles, take me home, to the place I belong

So last night was family dinner time and my grandparents had kindly offered to bring dessert in the form of a pumpkin pie. Unfortunately, we did not get to eat said pie for a simple reason that could have easily avoided. And now, the harrowing tale.

After a delicious meal, Moz decided to serve dessert. Standing behind the counter, he handled the food while I scoured our kitchen for dishes and spoons, the latter of which had decided to take a cruise around the Caribbean at that particular moment, or so I surmised as I couldn't find any of them. I carried what I did find into the other room where happy laughter and conversation was taking place. Moz remained in the kitchen with The Pie. "Glop", said The Pie, all of a sudden.
"Hmm?" Moz murmured, busying himself with filling the dishwasher.
"Glop," said The Pie again.
"Huh?" This time Moz realized that perhaps, something was sorely amiss.
"GLOP!" said The Pie again, more insistent.
"Ohhhhh." Moz looked towards the baked good with a mixture of suspicion and dawning horror. Moving slowly, he approached The Pie and peeked through the plastic cover on the front.
Orange goo, quite pumpkin-like, sat inertly and innocently under the shiny surface. Moz shrugged his shoulders and wondered if the sound had been the sink acting up again. "Who," he asked himself quietly, "forgets to put a stink pipe in?" Shaking his head at the ignorance of some so-called plumbers, he picked up The Pie who was biding its time.
"GLOP!" The Pie shouted, shifting its weight suddenly.
"AHHH!" said the Moz almost dropping The Pie.
Regaining his composure (it was, after all, an innocuous pie) he carried it into the dining room. Turning to my grandparents, he said, "Is it possible this was an uncooked pie?"
"NO!" My grandparents were vehement. They had picked up The Pie along with a smaller apple version, in the baked goods section. The apple pie was sitting smugly on the table, obviously cooked and realizing that it had a distinct advantage over the less viscous neighbour with whom it shared the table.
"Well," said Moz, opening the box, "it doesn't look like it was a cooked pie." The inside of the box betrayed the evidence of his statement. Inside, the box was coated with orange filling which had slid down to the end of the box making a pool and exposing the white pie crust that had never seen the inside of an oven.
A collective sigh rose from the table as all those assembled realized that we wouldn't, in fact, be eating said pie as not only had it not been cooked, but the filling was now filling the box, rather than the pie crust and couldn't possibly be restored to its proper place.
And so, Small Pie was split into tiny pieces, thereby robbing it of its smugness and The Pie was sent to the sink until someone could deal with the debris.
The moral of the story:
If you pick something up at the grocery store and then decide you don't want it, please, please put it back where it belongs.