On Thursday, I went over to help. We prepared everything together: salads, hot dishes, appetizers, desserts. Everything was just right. Except… I made a few small tweaks.
Not poison, of course, but little surprises: salt in the sweet pastry, vinegar instead of oil in the salad, and enough pepper in the meat to bring tears to the eyes.
On Friday, I arrived an hour before my shift. Guests were already arriving, and the table was full of food. My mother-in-law was glowing with joy. I stood up, raised my glass, and said:
— Dear family! Let’s raise our glasses to the guest of honor! What a woman, what a cook! Everything on this table — she made it! All by herself!
Applause. My mother-in-law blushed with pride.
Then the guests started tasting the food.
Her brother began coughing after biting into the meat. Her sister grimaced at the salad. And the salty dessert — the literal icing on the cake.
— Hmm… original, someone said, not knowing how to politely express their shock.
— Maybe a new recipe? added another.
My mother-in-law froze. I stood up, smiled, and said:
— Maybe you should have accepted my help…
And off I went to work.
