Monday, June 19, 2006

Happy Father's Day, Mommy Dearest...

I called my mom last night to wish her a happy Father's Day, just like I do every year. And she reminded me, just like she does every year, that phone calls are not gifts.

Me: Happy Father's Day! Thanks for being such a great dad.

Mom: Where's my gift?

Me: I'm calling you.

Mom: I was thinking a gas grill, or...those other
[she's been reading the Sunday circulars in the paper, I can tell...]

Me: Yeaaaaaahhhhhh, that's not going to happen. My electric bill was eleven hundred million dollars.

Mom: Really? Because mine was twelve hundred million.
[translation: "my house is bigger than your house."]

Me: Well, since you already have my love and devotion...
[and a hundred-dollar toothbrush for mother's day a month ago...and CASH for your birthday the month before that...]

Mom: My clothes dryer is making a funny noise. I think I need a new one.
[she likes to replace broken appliances rather than have them fixed. Same goes for her cars. The last time she traded one in I think it was because it needed an oil change.]

Me: I'm not buying you a dryer. Remember the computer I bought you that "broke" and you waited a year to tell me? Or the Netflix gift subscription for DVDs that sat on your table for two months?

Mom: I use the DVD/video thingy you got me last year all the time.

Me: Yeah, to watch Jeff EFFING Foxworthy! That's an abomination.
[and Blue Collar TV, which she probably wouldn't find so funny if she'd ever actually worked a blue collar job...]

Mom: So back to my gift...

Me: I'll take you out to dinner next week. Indian?
[I'm expecting to haggle, so I start low]

Mom: So what I hear you saying is...

Me: PUHLEEEAASE, not the shrink voice.

Mom: Nevermind, I have to go. Your sister's calling. She probably has a present for me. Loveyoubye.

Me: [to dial tone] I got another tattoo while I was in NYC, by the way. Yesterday I went to the 10th anniversary of a sex shop. And sometimes when you're talking about your grandson, I pretend to listen. Love you too!

In all seriousness, my mom was a great parent, role model, mom, dad, breadwinner, educator, and therapist (for a living, not for me). Now she's a great friend (and amazing grandma to my sisters' offspring) and I wouldn't trade her for all the Joan Crawfords in the world.


  1. You mean you can change the oil in a car?

  2. Happy Father's Day to your mother!!

  3. Sounds like a good family tradition.

    For a while me and my sister would send each other cards at Easter saying, "Praise the risen Christ!" and stuff because neither one of us believe this. So we'd be going to hell for sure, especially if we believed in divine retribution over Hallmark cards.

  4. Your dad looks like Joan Crawford, as played by Faye Dunnaway. Not only that but you call her mom. I can only assume that you are the product of a single parent uprbringing. Me too. Though my mom never looked like Joan Crawford. Nope.

    Anyway Happy Fathers Day Moms everywhere.

  5. My first car, acquired when I was 16, didn't last more than 2 years because the engine block cracked. On a formerly brand new car. Why? Because no one ever told me that the oil needed a-changin'. I wasn't an auto manual-reading 16 year old either.

    My mother actually slightly resembles Faye Dunaway, only with red hair. I used to love to yell, "I am NOT one of your FAAAANNNNS" whenever she asked me to do something. Actually, I still like doing that.

  6. That? That was fucking funny, that post. FAAAAAACKING funny! And the picture - aaaaaarharrrrrrr! Love it.

    - M


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