Mmm Look at This Pie I Baked That None of My Thin Children Are Allowed to Eat
After spending an entire weekend indoors baking and decorating like a madwoman, my Pinterest foodie page is off the frickin’ charts right now. Look at this pie. Look at it.
When it comes to pretty food, I am Michelangelo. But just as you do not touch the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, none of my svelte children are allowed to consume any of this sugary minefield.
This particular pie is a vegan chocolate pecan pie. I don’t bake anything that’s not vegan unless the eggs are free range and come from my egg guy, Ligorio, but that doesn’t mean it’s healthy enough for my perfect offspring to eat. Need I remind you that sugar is vegan? What with Declan’s lacrosse championship and Siobhan’s Dance Universe Xplosion Xtreme tryouts coming up, I have to ensure their intake of only nutritious and protein-rich meals. Some would say I’m being too strict, but I say I’m Xtreme—an Xtreme dance mom. They’ll thank when their dreams come true.
It’s not like I’m being a hypocrite. My pies look so good they’ve gotten me both into numerous affairs and out of trouble for said affairs, but do I know what they taste like? No. I try one nibble for quality control that I immediately spit out and present the rest on the patio table for my Sunday brunch guests to photograph while they muse that they just don’t know how I do it while keeping my figure and peck at little bits because they, too, are as terrified of calories as dogs are of fireworks. We are here to commend my showmanship, not get fat.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being fat. I have plenty of fat friends, and I still love them dearly. I don’t see weight unless it’s on one of my beautiful genetic creations. They have their paternal grandfather’s slow metabolism, the poor dears, so I have to think about what’s best for them. This is why they’re not allowed to see Grandma Flora too often. It’ll make them think it’s okay. One summer, I let Siobhan spend two weeks abroad with her bestie, Gwen, who is heir to a cheese fortune. She came back such an exaggerated version of her ideal, um, health that I had to double up her private dance classes and make the instructor sign an NDA.
The only individuals who know what my pies truly taste like are the people at the homeless shelter to which we donate the sizable leftovers. I always bring the children along when we do this, because watching what you love leave you is essential to developing the discipline to stay perfect forever. The goal of a lifestyle like mine isn’t just about treating your body like a temple (we already own one of those), it’s about creating your own immortality. I have no intention of dying.