Amish Controlling Mother Bread

I arose from bed yesterday afternoon to the sweet smell of what i thought was french toast with bacon on the side.  And when i say "arose" picture a vampire cocking his body tick by tick with arms jutting forward at the chest.  I ambled to the kitchen thirsting for syrup and bacon fat...but alas, there were none.

"Where's the french toast?," I wondered.  "The cinnamon? The syrup? The bacon grease?"

Turns out: its amish friendship bread for breakfast, yes, my amish friendship bread, the one i've been massaging for ten days...my own festering, fermenting reeker baby.  And who is baking Christina Reeki ( i named her...they grow up so fast)?  None other than mommy dearest.  I calmly voice my problem: "What the hell are you doing?"  She's shocked by my indignation and slices back with her own complaints: 

"Where's the big thing of Crisco? I had to buy a new one.

I left it at kyle's...dyou know how old that thing was? Two years! (if it were human we'd be potty-training it, teaching it the alphabet, and dissembling its crib to make room for a bigger toy box...)

Doesn't matter.

Wait a minute, why are you making my bread?

It was gonna go bad.  You were supposed to--

No, today is the baking day, it's written on the bag!" 

She unapologetically backs down as if to say what's done is done, that suckers already in the oven, greased, timed, and baking.  I inspect the loaves as they bake, accepting that my mother has once again grabbed my life's steering wheel.   Of course, she means well.  Of course, she grabs with love.  And of course, her amish bread was heavenly (baked with apples no less).  But it wasn't mine...in one simple act of motherly kindness she breadnapped my baby, usurped it of all its friendship qualities, and hijacked my life's course.  Hyperbole aside, all i really want from my mom is a chance to fuck up my amish friendship bread, my own life and someday a kid of my own .  Sounds fair, right?  So i kept a bag of the starter for myself, a do-over for my own piece of mind.  I have a feeling Reekard Gere is gonna enchant a few tongues.

(Remember that bacon smell wafting throughout the house?  Yeah, me too, but where did it come from?  I haven't a clue but I'm still willing to get to the bottom of the mystery of the phantom bacon.  Everybody loves bacon.)