The Egging Of Hillbilly Mom

Don't get your hopes up. Nobody hit me with eggs. Or even threw them at me.

Tomorrow is our Christmas dinner at school. As in, we carry in dishes and do not eat in the cafeteria. Here's the deal. I did not participate in it for several years. This year is the first time in about 5 years. It's a really juicy story why, but I'm not going into it here. Anyhoo, at the lunch table yesterday, Math Crony asked what everyone was bringing. She didn't want to double up, since we had 3 green bean dishes at Thanksgiving.

I told her I would not be bringing anything homemade, because this is a really busy week for me. There was the therapy and birthday dinner Tuesday night, the Pony's Christmas program tonight (along with #1's church program practice), and the church program tomorrow and Friday night. Which is neither here nor there, because it comes after our carry-in dinner, but it really is a busy week.

When Crony asked about the state of the luncheon, Mr. S said, "I'm bringing rolls." Now, I or anybody else in that school could have told you what Mr. S was bringing. It's what he always brings. To give him credit, it's an improvement. Years ago, he brought bread. Bread. A loaf of store-brand white bread! Sliced bread. Just bread. Which did not set well with those who slaved the night before, expending the effort and expense to bring an actual side dish. And when Mr. S told Crony of his plan, he said, "She makes great deviled eggs." Meaning me. And I DO make great deviled eggs. But they require effort. I won't go so far as to say I make them with LOVE like those creepy Tylenol manufacturers proclaim in their disturbing commercial, but I DO have a secret ingredient, and I can whip up a tasty deviled egg.

Crony's face fell. "Oh. My husband is going to The Devil's Playground tomorrow, and he was going to buy eggs." I said, "He can buy eggs to his heart's content. I am NOT bringing deviled eggs." Mr. S could not stop talking about my deviled eggs. I'm glad he likes them. But I'm too busy. Crony said, "You could bring mayonnaise. There is never any mayonnaise, and we're having ham." I announced, "That's IT! I will bring mayonnaise. And maybe a loaf of bread. For sandwiches the next day." Mr. S did not look pleased. My 2nd cousin at my left elbow piped up, "You could bring a vegetable tray. And dip." Why, for the love of Gummi Mary, could these two not leave me in peace to bring mayonnaise and a loaf of bread? Now I feel obliged to bring a vegetable tray that nobody will eat, because, HEY, there's 3 kinds of green beans and a pack of rolls and some deviled eggs. Nobody wants a vegetable tray. Which, I might add is about $8 more expensive than a loaf of bread and a jar of mayonnaise. That might cut into my gambling money. Mr. S, I believe, felt that I was encroaching on his bread monopoly. I wash my hands of the whole shindig. I think I will go back to not participating next year. Long gone are the days I brought my spectacular Oreo cake to these festivities.

There's more to that story, too. But I'm not telling it now.