 When I was in junior high, I seemed to always be failing in science class. Seriously. Week after week, I'd get a "down slip" in the mail and it was always handwritten by our serious secretary. You wanna know what I'd do with those? Slip them inside of cookbooks in our kitchen cabinet. Because they'd never get found, right? (My mom would want me to tell you that 1) she really does cook a lot, and 2) I really did pass science). Except my mom just always seemed to know. One time, I broke a new Fiesta dinner plate and hid it in between the extra blankets in my hope chest. Except my mom just kind of knew. When I called Miss Cleo, the psychic, the phone bill was ginormous. I hid that sucker in the cookbooks, too. And you know what happened? The one time mom picked me up, and the one time I happened to be in the car with her, and the one time she happened to open the mail as we drove up the driveway, the extra phone bill came. She had called to ask for another one because we so strangely hadn't gotten our first one. You guys. As long as I live, I will never forget the look on her face when she read that our phone bill was over $400. For a hot second, she wondered what had happened. And then, well, she knew. Then there was the time I spilled red kool-aid all over our brand new white carpet. And then? Shifted all of the furniture over two feet. Except my mom? That EXACT night? Wanted to clean like a cray cray lady. She actually moved the recliner to vacuum under it (because who does that, guys?!). That woman didn't even have to ask. She just marched her happy hiney outside where I was jumping on the trampoline and did this finger-wave-half-scream thing and my friend Nikki just sort of slumped off of the trampoline and dutifully followed her to the car - where she got a nice ride back to her house ... because my friends were firmly off limits for awhile. Because she knew. And I'm pretty sure the kool-aid was still wet. I stayed out past midnight the night before my brother's graduation party, and by the time I got back to my car to call my mom and kind of half-heartedly give her an excuse about where I was, she had already called my bag phone 1600 times. And making a HUGE mistake, I actually picked up the phone mid-ring when I got back to my car and holy hell. I was all, "But my friend had a flat tiiiiiiire." And she didn't buy it for a second. Because she totally already knew. The woman deserves lots and lots o' liquor for putting up with The Brother and me. (And The Brother, for the record, taught me everything I know ... his carpet stain was orange juice.) The funny thing about all of this? My mom doesn't drink. :) And now, it's your turn. In celebration of Mother's Day, tell me why you think your mother needs a stiff drink. The winner, selected by, of course, my mother, will win the CA-UUUUUUUTEST thermal tote from Thirty-One.  RULES:
Good luck! And may the Nan Force be with you! (Nan is my mom.) (Hi Nan!) I love you like I love peanut M&Ms in the afternoon, B. |
