My mother used to tell me stories about the past. Some of the stories were reflections on ways she was wronged, some others were observations of events, misbehaviors she witnessed, and relationships that weren’t successful and what they should have done to make things work.
Tonight we had Lebanese pastry for dessert and it reminded me of a story my mom told me about a couple in her hometown, who were having their first child.
The woman delivered a healthy daughter and the husband was instructed to go to the bakery and get some sweets to serve everyone visiting the new mom and baby at the hospital. In his excitement, the new father bought what was available and hurried back.
The dessert he brought back was less special than the wife and her family expected and she accused him of deliberately showing his displeasure at not getting a son by purchasing a cheaper dessert. No amount of explaining or pleading convinced the woman otherwise and she left the hospital, moved back with her parents along with her baby girl and that’s where she stayed.
They never reconciled and it was all because he bought the wrong pastry.
