Last night my Mom called and said she had a surprise for me and I needed to come over and get it. Also, she couldn’t connect to the Internet (she is finally using the laptop we got her for Christmas) and she needed me to fix it.
The minute I walked in she tells me she has been using the Internet to read my blog (Uh-oh) and that I curse entirely too much.
Me: “Seriously? I might have one or two words per post…sometimes none at all. How much is too much to you?”
Mom: “There should not be any cursing in your blog. Have you ever heard of Erma Bombeck? She never cursed at all and she had books, a newspaper column, was on TV and made a pretty good living…very funny lady. You should be more like her.”
Me: “Yes, I have heard of her, but I’ve never read any of her books.”
Mom: “Well, maybe it is damn time you did. I raised you better than this.”
Me:” Um, you just cursed and I was raised in a bar. I knew more about the world at age 13 than most people know at 40.”
Mom: “You were raised in a restaurant that just happened to have a bar.”
Me: “What is my surprise?” *this was going nowhere*
Mom: “Oh, here open it.”
I unwrapped a Wal-mart bag containing two cans of wasp spray.**
Me: “Wasp spray, awesome. Thanks!”
She proceeds to tell me that a friend of hers is constantly sleeping in the same bed with another woman, but the woman claims they are just best friends.
Mom: “They do this even when other beds are available! They must be lesbians.”
Me: “Hmmm Mom, I really don’t know. I also really don’t care, so I am curious as to why you care so much?”
Mom: “I don’t know…I just thought it was weird. Especially from someone who is so foamophobic. She just goes on and on about how they scare her.”
Long pause. Staring at her and trying to decide which old folks home to have haul her off after I leave her house.
Mom: “Yea, isn’t that the word for when someone is really afraid of homosexuals? Like they think they might catch it if they touch them or something?”
Another long pause. This conversation was actually taking place and not some sort of weird dream.
Me: “Mom, I have never heard of foamophobic before, unless it is a fear of memory foam mattress pads, but who would fear those? They are just heavenly. I think the word you were looking for is homophobic.”
Mom: *starts laughing uncontrollably* “Why did I say foamophobic?? I know it is homophobic! I am losing my mind.”
Me: “What is more important in an old folks home to you? Group games and crafts or getting your poopy diaper changed within 12 hours of soiling them? We can’t afford both, so one or the other.”
Mom: “You are so hateful.”
Me: “Yea, you raised me to be this way. Oh, by the way this conversation will be in a blog tomorrow.”
Mom: “When I figure out how to leave a comment you are in big trouble!”
** There has been an abundance of wasps swarming around my front door and hers. I have been deemed the official exterminator of both units. My last experience drained an entire can on her front porch and a wasp came after me. I had to run, people. I only do that when a person wielding a weapon is chasing me. But I figured with my dumb luck I might be deathly allergic to wasp stings and therefore I was being chased by an armed flying insect. Death was near.