Ok, I remember that point in the mother -daughter relationship when I did not want to go home anymore not because I didn't love my family but because of the hot topics of conversation. The first thing Mother greeted me with was "Well Ethelene died last week. She was only 98. She looked real good in the casket only I don't know why her family chose
green satin for the casket lining. With that red dress made her look like a tomato". She continued to rattle on about all the recently dead relatives that I never knew even when they were alive. This was usually followed by an audio recanting of the entire obituary column from the local paper since my last visit.
With all the recent dead buried she would then begin to review her every bodily function and malfunction since my last visit. This has continued to the present. At 95, she calls my sister every day to give her the latest report on the whereabouts of the hot dog and lemondade she had for lunch. She would call me except I have caller ID.
And now my friends have joined in on the "What's My Body Doing Now" program. My neighbor reported that she fell backwards off the porch. Ok, that's bad so I said "Hope you are ok." Wrong thing to say.
"Well, I didn't break anything but I did feel something fall out." The mental image of all that could possibly "fall out" was searing my brain. Before I could formulate "Glad you are ok now" she went into total My Mother auto load and rewind.
"I went to the doctor. He said 'You knocked your bladder out. You want to see?' And he whipped out a mirror and sure enough there was this little red ball thing hanging out my..."
"Was that the tornado siren?" I hopefully asked.
"I don't think so. Anyway, he told me he could reattach it next week at no charge if I agreed
to let them film the procedure for some television documentary.."
My brain was short circuiting like a TV with an antennae in a hurricane. I think I blacked out. I hope I did.
"Anyway, I said no, because I didn't want to take a chance on becoming one of those reality TV stars what with my spastic colon and all so I decided to take therapy instead to, you know, strengthen those muscles attached to..."
I began bargaining with God, promising to work with the Lepers or at least send them a check if He would just make it stop.
Mercifully He answered. Everyone's I-phone weather tornado alert sounded and we headed for shelter.
As I was sitting in the basement a variation of an old childhood song was playing in my head and I began to sing softly.
"Does your bladder hang low? Does it wobble to and fro? Can you tie it in a knot? Can you tie it in a bow? Can you throw it o're you thigh but still look me in the eye? Does you bladder hang low?"
green satin for the casket lining. With that red dress made her look like a tomato". She continued to rattle on about all the recently dead relatives that I never knew even when they were alive. This was usually followed by an audio recanting of the entire obituary column from the local paper since my last visit.
With all the recent dead buried she would then begin to review her every bodily function and malfunction since my last visit. This has continued to the present. At 95, she calls my sister every day to give her the latest report on the whereabouts of the hot dog and lemondade she had for lunch. She would call me except I have caller ID.
And now my friends have joined in on the "What's My Body Doing Now" program. My neighbor reported that she fell backwards off the porch. Ok, that's bad so I said "Hope you are ok." Wrong thing to say.
"Well, I didn't break anything but I did feel something fall out." The mental image of all that could possibly "fall out" was searing my brain. Before I could formulate "Glad you are ok now" she went into total My Mother auto load and rewind.
"I went to the doctor. He said 'You knocked your bladder out. You want to see?' And he whipped out a mirror and sure enough there was this little red ball thing hanging out my..."
"Was that the tornado siren?" I hopefully asked.
"I don't think so. Anyway, he told me he could reattach it next week at no charge if I agreed
to let them film the procedure for some television documentary.."
My brain was short circuiting like a TV with an antennae in a hurricane. I think I blacked out. I hope I did.
"Anyway, I said no, because I didn't want to take a chance on becoming one of those reality TV stars what with my spastic colon and all so I decided to take therapy instead to, you know, strengthen those muscles attached to..."
I began bargaining with God, promising to work with the Lepers or at least send them a check if He would just make it stop.
Mercifully He answered. Everyone's I-phone weather tornado alert sounded and we headed for shelter.
As I was sitting in the basement a variation of an old childhood song was playing in my head and I began to sing softly.
"Does your bladder hang low? Does it wobble to and fro? Can you tie it in a knot? Can you tie it in a bow? Can you throw it o're you thigh but still look me in the eye? Does you bladder hang low?"
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Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop: http://www.HumorWriters.org
Erma Bombeck Online Museum: http://www.ErmaMuseum.org
Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop: http://www.HumorWriters.org
Erma Bombeck Online Museum: http://www.ErmaMuseum.org
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2 comments:
Funny--& unfortunately TRUE!!
I try to avoid people who go into great detail about every ache and pain. But makes for a great post!
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