Eating bourbon balls

I made 60-some bourbon balls last Saturday. Exactly 45 were made to send to school as gifts for my daughter's teachers. The other 15 or so remained for family when they come to visit on the 23rd. Then I left town on Monday morning. I put the bourbon balls in the refrigerator with a big note inside that said "DO NOT TOUCH." Sure enough, last night my husband calls and 10 have been eaten. Ten. This amounts to a shot of bourbon. And it leaves only 5-10 left for the family.

It made me furious. While I was driving home last night, I yelled at her for 20 minutes about this over the phone. She apologized profusely. She said she would help me go out this afternoon and buy more ingredients, and help me make more for family. It's not so much that she ate them and now there are no more for family. It's that there was a note that explicitly said "DO NOT TOUCH."

Would I have done something like this when I was 13-years-old? I know I got in trouble for a lot of stuff. 8th grade was something of a nightmare for me, and I wish never to go back. My 13-year-old Christmas was spent in misery realizing that my best friend in the whole world, Kelly Fox, was moving away in less than a month. The news came suddenly just before the holiday break. I cried and cried. I went out and rode my bike for an hour in the cold. I cried while I rode. I don't remember much else from that holiday. And then my grades started dropping. Everything was great and then in a moment, it seemed as if everything that was important was gone. I was a kid without a friend that I trusted.

What is really going on in my daughter's mind? It's not bourbon balls; I'm sure that there is much more there that motivates her.