Let me cut it

Mother doesn’t eat dessert.  When she was pregnant sixty years ago her doctor told her to watch her sugar.  She might be diabetic one day.  Since that day, I don’t believe she’s eaten a whole cookie, piece of cake, or slice of pie.  She never makes or buys dessert, hardly surprising, since she won’t buy anything she can help. Also, as long as she doesn’t buy it or make it, she is watching her sugar.

Naturally, she can’t resist desserts when visiting.  Adamant that it is off limits, she refuses to be served along with everyone else.  “I don’t eat dessert.  Don’t cut me a piece.  I just want this little corner.  It looks like she wields a power saw!  Normally, round items don’t have corners, but cakes or pies under Mother’s knife are transformed.  Cookies have to be broken.  The best I can tell, bizarrely-hacked goodies have no calories.  It takes a trip or two to satisfy her.  Bud is particularly offended by this callous treatment of HIS desserts.  All the desserts at our house are his.  This doesn’t mean he prepares them.  He just cherishes them.  God help the person who gets the last bit!

Anyway, Mother messes them up!  Before leaving, she takes a final whack at them.  After all, she doesn’t eat dessert.