Sometimes “love is the secret ingredient” is really subconscious code for “barely repressed passive-aggressive fury over the complete lack of appreciation for how I slave to feed you ungrateful pigs who might as well be eating slop from a trough given how you cannot stop shoveling it into your mouths long enough to say ‘thank you’ or even acknowledge my existence is the secret ingredient. Oh, and once or twice, spit.”

At least that’s how mom’s therapist has explained it to her.