Am I That Transparent?

Tonight I hung out with my mom and baked. Well, I baked and she sat in the kitchen and told me what to do like some kind of kitchen foreman.

Altogether it was two loaves of banana bread and a couple dozen peanut butter cookies. She was going to bring the cookies to work with her and I, the banana bread. As I was leaving, she instructed me on how and when to slice the bread and how large the slices should be because obviously, at 26, the whole knife thing is new to me. Not to mention, division.

"Make sure you let it cool and slice it in half and then make the smaller slices. You can't feed eighteen people on fat slices."

"Okay, boss."

"Love you."

"Love you."

"Night."

"Night."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Thirty minutes later I walk through the door at home and my phone is ringing. The miracle that is caller ID says it's mom.

"Hi, boss."

"Hi. Also, wrap it in tupperware if you've got it. It will stay fresher than foil."

"Gotcha. Okay, love you. Bye."

"You ate some on the way home, didn't you?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I can hear it in your voice. You couldn't wait. You ate some."

Silence.

"Well, at least you have two loaves."

"Yeah, mom. I'll probably finish at least one tonight. Night."

"Bye, honey."

"Bye."

I hate when my mom is psychic and it involves my inability to resist baked goods.