First of all, I wish all a Happy Christmas, though today I was made aware that BabyJeebas was born in Summer and that Isaac Newton was born on the 25th of December. Also, a reiteration of the fact that Christmas is actually an adaptation of the Winter Solstice Festival in the pagan religions of yore and not actually a Christian thing... So, that means that the day should be Isaac-Newton Day and is a day to commemorate Science and the apple bonking a grown man on his head and making him cry.

Mr. Newton: Ow! Sonnoffa-

Apple Tree: Serves you right, you lazy git.

On, then, to the task at hand.
My mother. How'd you guess?
You could tell? No? Yes? YES? That doesn't make sense...

Haaaaanyway, I've discovered a pattern in my cooking. I take whatever is available and make do with it. Often creating substitutes and succeeding BUT the mothercreature would have none of that. No, she doesn't approve of the substitution (seriously though, all I did was use tangerines and orange juice instead of oranges, biiiiiiig whoooooop...)

In lieu of substitution, apparently the mince pie filling is destroyed. Her text to my phone said so. I assure you that it's not since I had a taste of it and it tasted very nice. Also, I'm gonna ignore her this whole monsoon season if I can. It would be a nigh futile effort but I shall have tried. I swear that woman is going to be the death of me. How in Orangdilangit's name did she and my father think that marriage and children would be a good idea? How? HOW???

There is no pleasing that woman.
Kill me now. Kill. Me. Now.