Weekend regurgitation: Apparently, I have been a very fertile girl

I survived skiing yesterday and my body is still chilled to the bone and hurts in places that haven’t been discovered yet, either by me or modern science. Story to come later, once my fingers thaw and my fallopian tubes unclench.

In the meantime, yesterday was also my mother’s 80th birthday. So now, instead of senior citizen, I can call her a SENIOR CITIZEN OCTOGENARIAN! Which is probably redundant but my mom is hard of hearing so a little repetition is called for, I think. But just to be sure, I typed it really loud.

I leave you with a post I wrote last year in honor of not only my mom’s birthday but also the birthdays of all the children in the world I conceived when I wasn’t looking.

Happy Sunday, everyone!

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I have grown children I never knew about working at Verizon and Best Buy

(originally published February 5, 2010)

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My mother turns 79 today. Happy Birthday, Mom!

She’s buying herself a digital camera.

Can I just get a collective OH MY GOD, STOP THE WORLD, I WANT TO GET OFF?

This is the same woman who, thanks to my dad who came up with the idea in the first place, now has all of her mail forwarded to their local Verizon store because she’s there more often than she’s not. Apparently, her cell phone keeps dialing my landline when it’s supposed to dial my cell phone and this has been going on for years and IT’S NOT HER FAULT, SHE WAS NOT BORN STUPID. Dad refuses to use the cell phone on principle because he never wanted the damn thing in the first place as he saw no reason to pay $39.99 a month so that Mom can call AAA if she ever has a flat tire in the dead of night. This is because (1) the last time Mom drove anywhere in the dead of night was never; and (2) signalling SOS with headlights is free. Regardless, he filed a forwarding request with their post office and now he can simply mail her a postcard asking WHERE DO YOU KEEP THE PEANUT BUTTER?

According to my mom, the Verizon employees are elated when she walks in eight days a week and affectionately refer to her as Grandma. I can only assume it’s because HOLY SHIT, YOU TAKE HER, NO YOU TAKE HER, NO I HAD HER LAST TIME, DID NOT, DID TOO, FINE LET’S PUNCH EACH OTHER IN THE GUT AND WHOEVER’S STILL BREATHING TAKES HER is too much of a mouthful.

She called me up the other day to ask me my opinion as to which camera she should buy and because I misread my caller ID, I answered the phone.

Mom: Andy?

Me: Dammit.

Mom: I want a digital camera. I do not want nor do I need any bells and whistles. No bells. No whistles. I want a very simple camera. Simple. I only want to press a bit fat button and nothing more. Now, tell me what to buy.

Me: Well, let’s see. I have the Nikon …

Mom: I don’t want that one.

Me: Wait, what? How do you know what I’m going to say?

Mom: I saw your camera at Christmas. It had too many buttons on it. And it was purple.

Me: Well, for one thing, it’s a dark purple, almost black. It’s not like Prince threw up all over it.

Mom: Prince? Who is Prince? Is that a dog? Did you get a dog and not tell me? Why would you get a dog and not tell me?

Me: Oh my God, nevermind. About the buttons … I don’t use half of them.

Mom: Then why do you have them?

Me: Ummm, because they came with the camera?

Mom: I am not paying for anything that I don’t need.

Me: But you might want to use them. And if you do, they’re there! Who knows, you might want to learn something new!

*silence*

Me: Or not.

Mom: Another thing … I need a camera that does not lop off anyone’s head. That’s important.

Me: Well, now, c’mon Mom. I think you need to take a little responsibility here.

Mom: And by that, you mean what exactly?

Me: Mom, the camera doesn’t come equipped with a guillotine. You, on the other hand, are a different story altogether.

Mom: Excuse me?

Me: Did I say that out loud?

Mom: So it’s not the camera’s fault? It’s mine? Is that’s what you’re telling me?

Me: Ummmm … yes?

Mom: Says the girl who thinks my cell phone works perfectly too. Why must you blame me for everything? Why must everything be my fault? Is this the thigh thing all over again? When will you stop blaming me for your thighs? They’re robust, Andy. Nothing to be ashamed about.

Me: Let’s not go there today, OK Mom? I’m not up for it and I’m out of Xanax.

Mom: Fine. I’m off to Best Buy. I’ve been there three times this week already. There are several youngsters there who are so helpful. Such nice young men. They call me Grandma, you know.

Me: Can you tell Dad to call me when he gets back from the post office?

Mom: How did you know he was at the post office?

Me: Lucky guess, Mom.

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