Thanksgiving is tomorrow and I’m going to my aunt’s. For most holiday gatherings we do a potluck. The host takes care of the main dish and the guests all bring something like a side or dessert. For most of my life I was tasked with bringing the soda because it was the easiest thing to bring. A few times when I was a little short on cash my mom even slipped me a few bucks to go get the soda.
That all changed when I got married. Once you’re married your family sees you as more of an adult. I had finally been upgraded from bringing the soda to stuff like chicken salad or pie. It was an exciting time in my life. It didn’t always work out. Sometimes I’d get too ambitious. One Thanksgiving I tried to make a gluten free chocolate cake (my brother can’t eat gluten). The recipe called for honey instead of sugar to sweeten but I didn’t pay attention at the grocery store and accidentally bought some honey with lemon in it. The cake tasted like ass but failure’s a part of the learning process.
This year, however, I’m divorced. I’m well aware that my family just assumed that Jena made most of the food we brought (it’s true but I helped some!) so when my mom called me about Thanksgiving I asked her what I should bring. I also reminded her that if she says soda, that I’m 31 years old. There was a long pause, she told me she’d ask her sister what else was needed and hung up.
The other day she called me back and said “You can get a pre-baked apple pie at Cub for 3.00.”
Fuck that. You guys want apple pie? I’m making a goddamn apple pie because I am a fucking MAN. Just like any other man in this situation I’ll go to pinterest to find the most kickass fucking apple pie recipe to blow everybody’s fucking minds!
HOW ABOUT I BAKE AN APPLE PIE DIRECTLY IN THE MOTHERFUCKING APPLE, BITCHES?
EAT IT, FUCKERS.
Maybe after eating my delicious fucking baked goods I’ll finally be seen as a goddamn grownup.