I Want People to Understand Why I Hate Bread

When my mom had her stroke at age 60 she wasn’t able to drive anymore.

I’ve driven her to the store over the past 10 years probably 240 times. But I also used to drop her off and pick her up, so really, that’s 480 trips to the fucking grocery store. At least!

And ya wanna know one of the main “emergency” items she always wants? Bread. Fkn bread.

I asked her many times to consider putting her bread in the freezer and she refused. How selfish and crappy is that? I mean she could have died altogether, but now, bread is soooo important.

She lived within walking distance of a store (one she didn’t like), or later had access to a community bus that drives and picks people up on a schedule and would have taken her ass to the store. But nooooo. She was always afraid, or angry or too good for it.

Some might think, well help your little, scared mother. But you know what? I have. Thousands of times.

The trouble is, I was a people pleaser. And man, did it ever backfire on me.

So look, I hate bread. I hate seeing it in the refrigerator because it’s a constant reminder that my mom has no problem treating me like her monkey no matter what despair or stress I may be under in life. But now, she really is old and needs help. Now that I know better, I’m truly trapped.

When I see her bread, I know it’s going to expire. And that reminds me that I have something to do. Something to remember. It reminds me of my ex and how crappy my mom was to him and how she enjoyed destroying parts of our relationship.

I used to leave work and need some damn groceries for myself, but I stopped shopping for myself because if I came home with groceries that I bought spur of the moment for myself, she’d see me bring them home and have some negative reaction to it. A sigh. A glare. A comment or two or three. So I stopped shopping for anything unless she had her bs groceries first.

Bread will always remind me that I allowed myself to be enslaved by my mother.

I feel like she has just about killed me.

Look at me. Running around for stupid bread.

I.am.a.bread.whore.

My aunt once said, “If you act like a doormat, people will treat you like one.”

I’ve been a doormat.

Why can’t she use a grocery delivery app you might ask? She can’t use technology nor did she ever want to learn. I can’t tie her up to a chair and use toothpicks on her eyelids to keep them open to watch how to navigate to Instacart. Plus, we are on a budget and I like to tip delivery people well for all the crap they have to pick up for people. Imagine how that adds up over a year?

Oh, and she can’t talk on the phone. She has aphasia caused by the stroke. People think she’s stupid because of it, but she’s not.

Once I used to schedule a taxi to come get her to take her to the store because she was too good for a fkn shuttle. And then they wouldn’t show up sometimes. Then I’d have to leave my desk at work and call the cab company, blah blah blah.

Look, what I really wanna do sometimes is buy a shit ton of canned goods, lean cuisines for the freezer, etc, and leave town. Leave town and never come back.

I’d leave bread for her in the freezer. Lots of it.

I’m gonna buy a bunch of bread and put my fist through it. Stomp on it. Go to the desert. Light it on fire.

Humorist.

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