From where I’m from, a Russian-occupied territories (then named Soviet Union), I remember a raspberry jam being a so-called deficit thing. It wasn’t allowed to casually eat it. Because if there’s a sickness, it was believed it helps. So it was always not the right time to eat that fucking jar of jam.
I don’t believe that raspberry jam is super healthy for fly infection. I don’t even want to challenge that belief, I don’t care whether it’s a myth or not.
For a reason my wife’s mother is a pretty much fucking Russian-Soviet-mentality bearer, with the pretty much cherry-on-top detail she never worked a day in her life, at least for the last 30+ years — you can only imagine how much a person having no work and no hobbies to follow can degrade — for that very reason, in our family this fucking jar of raspberries (with tonnes of sugar, which surely helps fight viruses, mind you!), it’s so fucking valuable! It’s that one tiny jar her mum gave us, just one, because of course she needs all the rest much more than her daughter and her daughter kids (not her grandkids, never).
Upon willing to open some jam to have with a cottage cheese, I catched myself on this thought, I’m not taking raspberry, but a currant.
I don’t like currant.
Then, of course, I make this effort and making my aim of killing that fucking jar within days, just because fuck it all. If I’ll need that raspberry jam for anyone sick, and it really helps … okay, I’m being honest with you, I think that’s bullshit. I’ll just buy this fucking jam. That’s what I’ve been doing casually before I married.
And learned that her mother is actually many times more stupid than I believed. She does a very good job of keeping the previous generations of Russian occupants vibes across us all the time.