Oh How the Tides have Turned
They’re cooking bacon this morning. I can’t hide from it, the smell is everywhere. Needless to say, I am not happy.
But there appears to be a nice subplot that has developed, which makes me feel a hell of a lot better. Want a clue to what it is? Here’s a hint:
Any guesses? No?
Well my grandmother feels horrible for eating in front of me in addition to everyone breaking my chops regarding my food situation. So bad in fact that she has subtly suggested that should the transgressions reach a boiling point she just might stop cooking for everyone. That, having eaten her food for many many years, would suck.
No one knows the fine art of deterrence better than she does, proved by threatening a f-bomb (no, not the curse, but rather “food”). So now its a balancing act: break my chops enough to satisfy the urge (because you can’t fully suppress it), but not so much as to piss off the matriarch. Kissinger couldn’t have done it better.
I told you grandma has my back.