Damn you, Southern Living.

There is always something worthwhile to read in Southern Living. For me, it's like paging through what my life could have been like if I was better at things, more organized, more crafty or born in a different decade. It's just so beautiful.

Like in Spring, Southern Living is all about gardens. Beautiful, strolling gardens with flowers and plants that I've never seen or thought to use, and pebble pathways and fountains, what attracts butterflies and hummingbirds. I want one of those gardens. I want to walk down one of those pebble pathways. And for just a second, or a few days and a trip to Lowe's if we're being realistic, I think I'm going to do that to my backyard. And I'm definitely ordering the new variety of hydrangeas that you advertised. But then I realize that I actually have to DO it, and IT is hard. And I would much rather sit around and read magazines.

And in winter, Southern Living is all about cooking. It's always cooking with Southern Living, but especially in Thanksgiving and Christmas mode. The tables are set with bronze and red and shades of orange, the special thanksgiving china is on the table, each dish was prepared with a pinch of Paula Dean and there's live turkeys in the backyard for ambiance. And not for a second do I think I can cook like that or decorate like that or rangle live turkeys but it makes me want to set weekly menus and go grocery shopping on Sundays and use coupons. And I do, once. And then things come up and all the meat I bought on Sunday spoils and Pres and I are left with Raman noodles and peanut butter crackers.

But this time, Southern Living, I've got you. I see what you're up to. You've put that pretty picture of lemon squares on a whole page. And really, who can resist lemon squares? Not me. When I see lemon squares, I have to know if they taste good or not. Because they always look good but they don't always taste good, so I have to know. And Southern Living, you wrote that recipe for lemon curd, homemade lemon curd, and said that it only takes six minutes in the microwave.

And this is where I should have called your bluff, Southern Living. You don't do six minute recipes. You do prep work and homemade pie crust and things that require sieves. But I read on, encouraged by your six minute recipe. And no, it's not a six minute recipe as you have led me to believe. Zest of six lemons, you say? A cup of squeezed lemon juice, you say? And butter and eggs and whatever else on the stovetop? Cover and refrigerate to prevent a film on the top? Um, if it can possibly get a film, mine will have a film. For shame, Southern Living. You have mislead me.

But still, all these recipes look so good. And there's a lemon tiramisu. Really its a parfait, but you've dressed it up by calling it something its not - A lemon tiramisu. Oh my MKA. You've used your really hard to make lemon curd in a really easy way. Enticing, Southern Living. You are good. Even though I know what path you have led me to, I still want to gleefully skip down it in my yellow dress and knee socks with my basket of fresh lemons. Even though I know you are hiding behind the next bend in the road, behind the next big rock along the path, ready to throw eggs at me when I fall over your trip wire that you made out of repurposed fabric scraps, I'm still tempted. I want those lemon squares. I'm planning parties so I have a reason to make lemon tiramisu.

Damn you, Southern Living. I shake my fist at you. I'm also holding a lemon square and there's powdered sugar on my face, but I'm shaking it at you still.