So, my mother is almost here…she’ll be arriving tomorrow or Friday. We’ve already tiffed via phone about things she and Boy are allowed to do if I’m not there…or even if I am. She’s an arthritic short fat lady in her 60’s, and my father is shaped like Santa…they are not taking the Boy on a boat into the middle of 5 mile lake to go fishing. Has she lost her mind? There is a fish pond in my back yard. Literally. You open my back gate…and there is the pond. Man and I planted willows years ago, so now they’re big enough that the fish always hang out in the shade there. If you throw a line into the pond, something will bite it. Why in the name of all that is holy would you want to go out into the middle of a lake when it’s 50 degrees out and the wind is gusting 30 miles an hour? The woman is insane, I swear to god. And the kicker? She hates fishing. Hates it. Wouldn’t touch a worm unless there was Rockefeller levels of cash involved. Yet she wants to take Boy on a boat. She doesn’t even like boats. She’s just insane.
Then she wanted me to move his tiny little birthday event to Chucky Cheese. Now, I ask you, if your son asked to go somewhere because he liked the salad bar, and all of the people he wanted to come had already agreed to go there, and the event was less than a week away…would you want to change plans to go to Chucky Cheese? Good lord, if I never have to go to CC, isn’t that a good thing? I know she says these things just to make me crazy. She does. I know she does.
My house is a wreck, the new puppy has piddled on EVERYTHING, and chewed what she can’t piddle upon. Orders have gone through the roof because I got MetaFiltered, the nonsmoking is killing me, and to top it all off…I’m having full blown, OMG, call out the marines, someone find the chocolate, PMS.
Seriously…someone find the damn chocolate. A chocolate cigarette would be perfect. A chocolate, cognac and xanax filled cigarette. Yeah…that’s the good stuff.