Ser przyjaciółki mamy

No one remembers exactly where Aunt Basia moms friend came from. To me, it felt like she had always existed, like darkness, cockroaches, and Krzysztof Krawczyk. Dad thought she was some sort of undercover agent for a shadow government, planted among regular people for social experiments. Grandpa, on the other hand, was convinced she was the fifth horseman of the Apocalypse, kicked out of the team for trying too hard. Even mom couldnt properly explain how they met. Aunt Basia was like that mysterious key on a keychain you dont know what its for, but youre too scared to throw it away.

Aunt Basia had no husband, no kids, but she had free time in spades. Women like her are more dangerous than an epidemic. You could encase her legs in concrete and drop her to the bottom of the oceanshed still find a way to stir up chaos until the entire underwater world grew legs just to escape onto land.

When it came to business instincts, Aunt Basia had a full-blown commercial *thrombosis*. Every year, shed doom us to her newest venture, and there was no running from itnot even abroad. She had a passport, a multiple-entry visa, spoke three languages fluently, and yet not one of them contained the word *”no.”*

At one point, she sold organic Cuban skincare that left mom with a silky mustache and a bizarre addiction. Then came the mens underwear knitted from synthetic merinothats when dad suffered. She promised him *”unshakable masculine vigor”* and demanded feedback after a month of wear. He gave it after three days. Rumor has it, later that night, Bogusław Linda called him asking for an autograph.

Grandpa wasnt spared either. Aunt Basia sold him *”intestinal detox and blood pressure harmonizing”* supplements. For a week, he made appearances on the evening newsthen another month in the *weather forecast*, every time he stepped outside.

She had *so* many ideas: handmade soap with hogweed extract, *healthy* sweets made of cilantro and thistle, eel-based crafts. She would talk for hours about the miraculous benefits of her products until people started reverse-evolving and walking on all fours. When faith in God, science, and common sense finally crumbled, Aunt Basia would offer *a discount.* And the victim would cave. As her *”dearest friends,”* we got the *privilege* of free samples.

A month ago, Aunt Basia started making homemade cheese and bringing it to us in every possible state of matter. Words cant describe the smell. Im pretty sure our apartment wont be sellableor even rentablefor another ten years. The whole stairwell, honestly. Only grandpa was thrilledhe didnt have to wash socks anymore and got praised for his *”strong principles.”*

The cheese was *unusual*. It bent grater teeth, blew up microwaves, and evaporated in the oven. Sometimes, we swore it *attacked* other fridge items, turning them into more of itself.

Once, I tried mixing it into pasta with ketchup. The result was enriched uraniumnow our familys banned from leaving the country for seven years.

Mom begged us to endure. Aunt Basia swore the first pancake was always lumpy, and the next batch would be *”the bomb.”* When grandpa heard that, he carried a hammer around for a week, threatening to cut us out of the will if even a crumb made it to his plate. Dad had it worsehe loved mom more than life itself (his own fault), so he had no choice.

As for me, Aunt Basia said modern kids already have *the entire periodic table* in them anyway, so I could eat chocolate bars with the wrappers. And that my blood was *palm oil* while her cheese was *100% natural*she even dismissed grandpas Geiger counter, which went nuts, with: *”Hes no authority!”*

But then something weird happened. The cheese wasnt bad. Sure, we downed a liter of activated charcoal beforehand and reinforced all biological exits in case of sudden *decompression*. But taste? Surprisingly, we didnt need to worry. It was smooth, creamy, with a subtle spiciness and a nutty aftertaste. Mom made sandwiches, dad added it to salad, and even grandpawho caught a whiff from the kitchendidnt hesitate to try a slice.

Aunt Basia, it seemed, had won. For the first time ever, her words matched reality, and a project of hers got *public approval*. Though she only confessed to mom that the cheese wasnt hersit was made by her new husband, a restaurant chef she nearly killed on their first date with *”cheese soup.”* He spent three days on an IV, and when he woke up, he claimed hed *seen the light.* Between life and death, he realized his purpose: to *save humanity* from Aunt Basias ideas. If she got a *”crazy notion,”* hed make it himselfand let her take the credit. He even married herprobably out of duty to the planet.

Now, we keep a close eye on their relationship. And pray*hard*that they stay happy together.