just letters

why i want to egg my own mother’s house at the moment

dear silly girl,

there’s this recipe i’ve been begging my mama to give me for a year. it’s an apple cake recipe that i’m pretty sure someone sold their soul for.

i’ve begged. i’ve promised to never show it to anyone ever. i’ve guilt-tripped the woman.

and i could turn this into a lovable, this-is-just-what-we-do-in-the-south story, but i won’t and can’t because i’m mad. angry, furious, livid, resentful, exasperated… call it what you want.

let me just tell you what this woman who is supposed to be instinctively programmed to love me has done.

last week, she pulled into the driveway to drop off a pair of shoes she was letting my sister borrow for an interview. ugly shoes, might i add. my sister wasn’t home so i went out to her car to retrieve them. she handed me the ugly, black, nun shoes as well as a slip of paper.

it had the recipe on it.

i was so excited! i told her my next attempt to get that recipe involved saying something along the lines of if i died tomorrow, wouldn’t you feel bad that you didn’t give me that recipe?

well, we went to an apple orchard today to pick apples, and get the most amazing apple cider donuts in the entire world, like we do every year. i bought a few baking apples solely with the intention of making this cake that i am convinced was created by angels.

we went straight to the store once we got back to town, and i proceeded to spend $30 on the ingredients to make this holiest of cakes.

i mixed flour, eggs, crisco, vanilla, apples, pecans, and a plethora of other ingredients together. it looked good, smelled good, and the batter tasted great. {yes, i risked salmonella for this cake.} i put it in the oven and waited an hour for the magic to happen.

then, exactly 60 minutes later, the timer went off. i all but sprinted and hurdle-jumped to the kitchen, and removed the pan.

it didn’t look the same.

so i sliced it and took a bite.

it didn’t taste the same.


and then i went on a tangent that went something like this:

that hussy gave me the wrong flipping recipe! this is not the same recipe! she has left something out or just made this one up! that lying, no-count heffer!!!

naturally, i decided to text my mother.

do you pour something on top of this apple cake when you make it? it doesn’t look or taste like yours.

to which she responded, what is that?

what is that? that question doesn’t make any sense, i may have yelled.

the apple cake, mom. 

to which she responded, all i’m getting are little squares.



she did this on purpose. there is only one apple cake that circulates in this family. she didn’t “accidentally” give me the wrong recipe. she purposely gave me the wrong recipe.

and cost me $30!

to repair my angry, annoyed, wounded heart, i decided to make deviled eggs. i took a picture of these eggs that i suitably named Mad-at-my-Mama Deviled Eggs. deviled eggs can cure almost anything. they are the reason some people go through family Thanksgivings at all.

and i’m not gonna lie… the thought may have possibly crossed my mind a time or two that if i stood close enough to our barn, i could throw a few hard enough to hit her house.

or her, if i was really lucky.

there isn’t much of a moral to this story except to say that you should never, ever give someone a phony recipe in order to hold on to the good one. you should just tell them outright that they can’t have it until you’re dead. that’s kinder.

i love you.

vengefully yours,

your mama


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