My Mom's Convinced

On the rare occasions I come home, my Mom is convinced I like her pan fried steak.
It's the most god-awful thing I've tasted. It taste rubbery and...well, like it was still grazing in a field somewhere. I have to drench it in soy sauce for it to taste like anything too. She trims the fat and then fries the whole thing. She doesn't know how to cook a steak. But she tries.

But it's not good enough.

So I remind her that I am perfectly fine not having her steak. To which she replies "Oh no, you love steak."

Yeah, I think to myself, I do...just not the way she makes it. And I have to have this argument about maybe she is talking about either of my sisters who've expressed their appreciation of her steak. To which she considers for a little. Searches her memory, and again believes I am the one who loves the steak she makes.

Why would I lie, Mom? Why would I tell you that I don't like the steak you make? I just shrug and chew through it, since there's nothing else in the house. I quietly fume, and chew. Chew and fume.

I truly believe she does this so I never ask her to make anything to eat ever...so she can disappear into her Chinese soap operas. I will miss these days.