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My Daughter, The Um… The Uh…. What Was It Again?

May 10, 2010

I hope every one who celebrates Mother’s Day had a pleasant one.  I was feted and fed, wined and dined by the people who love me, and, as Queen Of All She Surveys, am well pleased by my family’s tribute.  One of the best things about this Mother’s Day, though, was that the entire day passed without once again having to explain to my kids about why there is no official holiday on the calendar called Kids’ Day.  And not a moment too soon.  The screaming and the whining were getting to be a bit much, especially for my kids.  They hate to see me cry.

The fact that it was Mother’s Day, though, got me thinking about how I’m slowly turning into my mother.  It happens to all of us, but the thing I’m most concerned about is that I find myself having the same conversations with other adults that I remember thinking were so moronic when I was younger.  Those, of course, were the days before I had donated my last functioning brain cells and apparently most of my proper nouns to my kids.

According to my doctor, this is perfectly normal.  This doctor also happens to be a man who will never, ever have a hot flash in his entire life unless he accidentally sets himself on fire, so as far as I’m concerned he can keep his opinions to himself, thank you very much. Oh sure, they’re all up in our faces with the prescription horse hormones when you complain, but you know what we could really use?  Tele-Prompters.  And where are the cue cards and name tags when we need them, Dr. “It Happens To Everyone As They Get Older”?  Hey, you know who this doesn’t happen to?  MEN.  Here is a conversation I recently had with a female friend:

“Remember that movie we saw?  With the guy who used to be on that show?   With that woman?  You know, the one who was married to that other guy?”

“No.”

“Yes you do.  He always wore his hair the same way that other guy does on that TV show you like. Remember?”

“No.”

“Sure, we saw it in the town where you bought that thing for your living room.”

“What thing?”

“You know, the thing you wound up putting on your side table.”

“I have a side table?”

And so on.  But then it gets worse.  I, at least, can still manage to stay on topic once in a while, assuming I can remember what the heck the topic was.  As we age, though, we apparently lose the verbal and mental ability to keep the ball in play without running offside and being given a foul by the ref.

I’m sorry; I must have drifted. What I meant to say is that older people don’t have conversations that sound moronic anymore. No, by a certain age they’ve giddily boarded the Retirement Cruise Ship out of Moronic and are headed straight for the Super-Fun Timeshare Resort for the Mentally Deranged.

I’m kidding, of course, and to show that I really have nothing against our senior citizens I’ll even use my own mother as an example, partly because Mother’s Day is now over and all bets are off, and partly because out of all of the old people that I interviewed for this column, she was charging the least money. Thanks, Mom.  You’ve always been there for me.

Mom has always been my biggest fan, and at least within the state of Florida where my parents live, my biggest promoter.  If there is a single man, woman or child or even an alligator within 100 miles of where they live that doesn’t know I have a book coming out via Barnes & Noble, I would be very surprised.  Getting them to it (the people, not the alligators) may be a little tougher.  Here is a conversation that my mother recently had with someone close to her age:

“So, guess what.  My daughter’s book is finally at Baskin-Robbins.  In the Humor Section.”

“Baskin-Robbins?  How lovely!  Is it about ice cream?”

“Ice cream? I love their Gold Medal Ribbon…”

“Oh, I just bought the most beautiful vest with ribbons.  I’m going to wear it to the Club Dinner.”

“Hey, after dinner, you know what we should get?  Ice cream!”

And so on.  Add to that the 45 minutes that they will spend in the restaurant parking lot looking for their car, and you just know they will never make it to the bookstore before it closes.

It would probably be a good thing at this point to tell you the name of my book and where you can get it, but I can’t remember where I put the information.*

*I lie.  It’s called “It’s Not PMS, It’s You” (Sterling Innovation) and is available for pre-order at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble Bookstores, and independent book sellers near you.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. hpy2bme permalink
    May 10, 2010 9:42 PM

    I swear i know exactly what movie you saw, you know the one…cuz that’s how i talk and i only associate with others that know, understand and can talk back like this!

    It’s like that secret club, you know the one where you have to say that silly little ditty about, oh that one that asks if you’re an animal and i think the animal’s green but i can’t remember whether it jumps or just moves so slowly, like the cute characters in a local TV Commercial called the – oh what are they called now?… but you know that if you recognize what i’m talking about, you HAVE to answer my question!!!

  2. Kevin West permalink
    May 10, 2010 8:45 PM

    I’ll have the chocolate swirl with a side of CoQ10, please.

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