That moment late on a Friday night when you realize you served cornbread to 6 women for lunch on Monday, and everybody thought it was delicious. You even thought it was delicious, but you said to your guests, "Something is different. Something is wrong, even though this is good." And you couldn't figure it out, because this was your mom's recipe, which you've made hundreds of times, and which you even won a contest for, so how could it be different? And then days later you realize you didn't actually put any corn meal in it. Zero. That's why it was different. It was actually cornless bread, which isn't even a thing. And then you think maybe you should just keep that shit to yourself or the kids will start arguing over who gets what when they put you away in the Home. Or worse yet, rehab. Shhhh. Not a word to the kids.
