Agenda For The Rotunda

I suspect that my mother has an agenda.

We always have Easter dinner at her house. A larger spread you've not seen this side of Oliver Twist's workhouse, where Mr. Bumble presided over a sumptuous feast that surely made the table groan with pain.

Mom makes the main dishes, and my sister and I bring various standards like deviled eggs, potato salad, Oreo cake, chocolate pudding pie, plates of cookies, vegetable dip, slaw, bacon-wrapped green beans, hash brown potato casserole, etc. Mom baked a ham and a pork loin. She made stuffing because The Pony likes it. And elbow noodles for my niece. And chicken strips. And three kinds of rolls. With real butter. A pecan pie. A vegetable tray. A salad. Olives and pickles. And a tray of cheese for ham sandwiches. The cheese looked like the variety pack from The Devil's Playground. Swiss, Colby Jack, Hot Pepper, and Cheddar.

I'm stuffed just thinking about it. Of course there was food left over. That's Mom's goal. So we drop in the next day for lunch. And then she packs up leftovers in mismatched margarine tubs and Cool Whip tubs and foam take-out containers that she has washed, and zip-lock bags, and recycled hot & sour soup containers.

Image my surprise when I unpacked my bounty at home, and found that she had not given me the cheddar cheese off the quad-cheese tray, but a stand-alone ziplock bag of the kind that individual slices come in. To hear Mom tell it, "I gave your sister the cheese from the tray we had Sunday. But here's some of the cheddar that stuck together when I was putting it out."

It was Alpine Lace Reduced Fat Cheddar Cheese.

Really, Mom? Really? Are you trying to tell me something?