Thursday, 21 July 2011

Always Blow On The Pie.

Dear Mum,

I know you only have the best of intentions when you tell me I've done a fabulous job, made a great effort etc, when even a blind man could clearly see I've made a right cock up. I realise you're trying to protect my fragile ego, spare my feelings and apply some kind of 'glass half full' reasoning to what is in actual fact a really bleak situation.

To be completely honest, I'd prefer it if you'd stop feeding me with your lies of kindness and admit the truth.

Clearly, I burnt the pie.

Okay, so maybe it was not burnt as such. Not quite. But, your efforts to try and tell me the pie was 'just a little brown', 'slightly darker than golden' and 'just a wee bit well cooked' failed to subtract from the fact that the pie was 'almost as inedible as an old shoe', 'slightly less scorched than the rim of Satan's asshole, and 'drier than a nun's nasty'.

It's okay, I can accept the truth. And I take full responsibility. After all, this is the direct result of me going to bed at 4am the previous night. I also ran a red light into turning traffic and completely forgot where I parked the car after walking out of the supermarket this afternoon. Clearly, I shouldn't be allowed near motor vehicles, heavy machinery or ovens today. (Gods only know what excuse I'll think up for tomorrow.)