Why My Mom Never Eats Bread At Family Gatherings Anymore
My mom went to her aunt’s house. She, her parents, and siblings are in the kitchen while aunt is cooking. My mom can’t figure out why no one is having this delicious bread that’s on the table. She’s on her 3rd slice when the aunt leaves the room. My mom’s brother tells her, “You know that bread was for the dog, right?”
She almost choked..
It was some kind of rustic, slightly stale loaf, still soft in the middle, toasted just right. She thought it was one of those artisan things you find at farmers’ markets. Her brother had this smirk on his face like he’d been waiting for her to eat it.
It wasn’t poisonous or anything—just… dog bread. Aunt Noura always made a little batch of leftovers with dry bits, some oats, and whatever crumbs were around. She’d feed it to her collie, Misty. But she left it on the kitchen table because she was mid-prep and didn’t expect guests to treat it like a buffet.
Mom never lived that down. From that day on, whenever we’d visit family, she’d politely decline bread—even if it came straight out of the oven.
