In a bit of a jam (freewrite)

Her homemade jams were something no one would want to taste. I don't know what Lizzie put into them, I was never home when she made them and I never had the heart to tell her just how awful they were. So a couple of times a year, I just had to sit through a huge helping of strawberry jam. Or what she referred to as 'strawberry jam', what it was in truth, I have no idea. The excuse that I was dieting really didn't work since we were living together.
She'd make dozens of jars and she's spread them around the family. Sort of like the plague, you know. She even gave me some the following day, to give to people at work. Let's just say they never saw that jam.
I don't know why it was horrible, this one particular thing, because the rest of her cuisine was extraordinary. She made a shepherd's pie that was just to die for. You can imagine how much I hated this since jam had always been my favorite food, as a kid. My mom would make this amazing one, almost out of anything and I'd eat it on everything bread, crackers, sometimes I just ate it out of the jar.

And when I told my wife (well, future wife back then) that, she got right on to making them. Lizzie was always such a sweet woman, so eager to please everybody. It would've broken her poor heart if I told her they were horrible. She made such a fuss over food.
I know I sound like a really picky guy by now, but I'm not. I've never really cared that much, you know, I'll have whatever's on the table. No need to make a fuss about me. But she did, and it got on my nerves, the constant questioning – what would I like, was it hot enough, did I like it, did it need anything.
It just got to be too much. I'd avoid her, I'm not proud to admit. But it's what she made me do. We were in a pretty bad state, barely speaking. When we did, it was just pleasantries, mindless talk about food mostly. And all this constant cooking got to her, you know, it loosened up her waistline.
She used to have such a pretty, wasp-like waist, I must say I was very disappointed when she put on all that weight.
I tried telling her. I tried talking her through things, you know, rational like adults. But she just got on my case about how I never was home. Of course I wasn't, what was there to talk about at home?

So, I finally had enough, you know. Like you do. Oh, shit, I forgot to ask, how do you like the jam?
Really? You're too kind, it's my mother's recipe, she told it to me right after I got married. It seemed so silly at first, you know, I thought she was joking. You know, my father's absence was always a running joke...

Here, have some more.

I mean, I loved Lizzie, you know, but she just never could make proper jam. I figured the least she could do was be part of one.

Prompt of the day was 'her homemade jams'. Please check out @mariannewest, who's lovely enough to host these freewrites and offer us prompts. Maybe even try one yourself ;)