My mother can be so seemingly naive, sometimes, that you would think she's handi-capable (yes, I'm attempting to be P.C.) with slight mental retardation.
Remember the Steve Martin film, "Parenthood?" I had watched that at home with both of my parents. During the scene when the power goes out and a kitchen drawer is rummaged through for a flashlight, a "battery powered shoulder massager" is revealed in hand when the lights come back on (I'm drawing a blank on which actor whips it out, but it looks much like the one in the photo, above).
The young daughter asks, "Mommy, what is that?"
Mommy hesitates in her answer. "It's . . . an ear cleaner."
"Well?" my mother asks us. "What is that?"
"Uh, Mom." I hesitate, too, before answering. "Well . . . you don't put it in your ear."
This is the same woman who, after my brother had told our family that he had gotten his girlfriend pregnant, asked "Well, how did this happen?"
The amazement and disbelief in her tone of voice, tinged with impatience, was not faked, bless her heart.
The are four of us, all siblings counted, that my mother bore. I wanted to respond with equal amazement.
"Mom, what, were you knocked out, unconscious, each time that you conceived? Did Dad have to drug you to have sex?"
One of my more memorable, former roommates taught me that Southern women can get away with almost any thinly veiled insult or criticism by sugarcoating it with the quick addendum of 'bless her heart!'
My mother can be such a clueless lil' thing, bless her heart!
9 comments:
A friend of mine had one in her suitcase, and when they searched her stuff at the airport, it set off alarms (apparently, there was something in its composition that is also used in military grade explosives).
However, they said, "Oh, that happens all the time with this brand" and let her through.
Which would have been really great, except that once you die of embarrassment at an airport, you can never fly from there again.
That's classic, LOL!
Now we know how to smuggle weapons of massive pleasure past security!
Hmmm. Maybe your mother didn't know how you were born. Maybe you were immaculately conceived. No, your behavior says otherwise.
How dare Noel suggest that you might not be a child of god! That Filipino whore!
Girls, please!
You're BOTH pretty!
i was born and raised in the south.
my mother is a true, well, a true many things, but, this is a tale of southern women.
my youngest brother came in (he's a decade younger than i) while my mother was talking to me.. i was 16 or so.
he had golden curls and blue, blue eyes...
"momma, where did i come from?"
"baby, momma told you, you are from new orleans" my mother sounds as if the entire state of mississippi resides in her accent
"no, momma" he said, rolling on her bed, "where did i COME from?"
"baby, momma told you, the doctors took you from her tummy after a big operation. i'm talking to your sister, go get some pudding"
"momma? didn't you and daddy have to fuck to get me?"
silence. crickets. her face never changed.
"baby, i don't rightly remember. go ask your daddy."
he left the room, she slammed the door and fell on the floor twitching.
southern women. we have spines of steel.
LMFAO! Hysterical!
Are there any blog entries about your mother in f_m_d? I've also heard that you have brass ovaries!
i recently wrote a story of my dog, blackie...and she is part of a long blog i did on june 1&2.
the blackie blog (august) contains a line that my mother uses to this day, if you bring up the dog, the story or her car.
she's sprinkled throughout...but, realise, we don't have the delightful relationship you and your mother have... she does, however, provide me with great material.
Thanks for pointing the way.
I look forward to reading those!
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