Strangely related, but one of my few Christmas traditions was cheesecake. It was a relatively simple no-bake version, but it was fudging delicious and I'd make a caramel cream to go on top.

Now I'm not saying I never managed to get a slice after the first year. In fact, all I'm saying is that the cheesecake and the caramel cream would have mysteriously vanished by the time I got home to Christmas Eve dinner with the family (from hell-adjacent, by the way, with one or two saints who got dragged into the mess through marriage)

Anyway, the usual answer to my irritation was that the kids just really wanted it. Now, I don't like these kids (my cousins) and I don't like their parents, and so I couldn't care less. I also didn't care for the entitlement of my aunts and uncles who seem to assume that their brats could get whatever they want.

Yes, I once saw one of the brats eating three slices of the cake smothered in the caramel sauce. This cousin is now obese, and I enjoy watching him waddle around and complain about his weight while simultaneously stuffing his face with food and crying to mummy that no girls want to go out with him.

Ahem, I digress.

So, at about year three, I put the caramel cream at the very back of the fridge, in a Tupperware that is not see-through. Next to this Tupperware was a much smaller cheesecake in a another container that hid it. It was basically the leftover materials from the main chcheesecake. I then make a bowl of sour cream, which I sour further with lemon juice, vinegar, and I give it a caramel colour with some... spices that are more appropriate for a spicy curry than a cream.

I leave this hear the front of the fridge, and I go on my merry way.

Anyway, I arrive home and to my utter surprise, the mood isn't right and it's just awkward. So, I ignore the whole thing, go have a quick wash and change in my room before coming back down, open the fridge, and in the most innocent voice I can muster, ask the room at large:

"Hey, where's the sour cream? It was for the fajitas."

After dinner, I enjoyed my cheesecake in front of them all while they ate the shitty ice cream that my aunt always brings over (it tastes of milky water and regret) and my cheesecake tasted like justice. And the reasoning for why I made a little for myself?

"Well, aunt Bitch, everyone always eats the whole thing before I get home, which is fine and I'm glad you all enjoyed it, so I just set aside a bit for myself this year."

She did ask me to give it to her kids to share, and I just smiled and said they'd already had theirs. But they're kids, she says, and they really want some. But they're not my kids, I reply, and so I don't need to be bothered.

Fast forward to several years later, and for some strange reason, my son likes lemon cheesecake.