I’m American. My grandpa was American. After my grandma died, he remarried a British woman.

One time when I was 7, she asked if I wanted pudding with dinner. As a kid I said YES!!! I didn’t even ask what flavor. Chocolate. Vanilla. Tapioca. Banana. Fuck it. I don’t care. You offered pudding, and a fat kids answer is always yes. No further questions needed.

Well, we have this meal with meat and gravy, and potatos, and a biscuit. It was all very good.

But then dinner was over.

And I’m waiting.

Everyone is leaving the table. They’re acting like the meal is over.

Haaaaaaaaang on.

“Um…excuse me…is the pudding ready?”

“Oh. You want another pudding? I think we have some more.”

“…more?”

And then she hands me a teacup plate with another biscuit.

“I mean…ok. I’ll eat this too, but where is the pudding?”

“Dear, this IS your pudding!”

long silence as I realize there is no pudding

“This is why everyone besides papa doesn’t like you.”

42 now. I stand by what I said. You don’t tease a fat kid with sweets, and then give glorified bread.

In general I liked her. I was the only one who did.

In that moment though??? She was dead to me.