I'm so proud
Wow. Good old mom. Has she ever changed. Yesterday, I was standing in the grocery line, waiting. The woman in front of me clearly knew the checker. I couldn’t help but overhear this inspiring tidbit.
Mom: Yeah, that’s my beer. Well, my kid’s, actually. I let my son and his girlfriend have beer at home. They’re in high school now, so it’s…
Checker: Better than having them go drink somewhere else.
Mom: Right. Oh, this is so funny. The other day, they were playing the f-word drinking game. You know what that is, right? The F-Bomb?
Checker: Gotcha. Don’t have to spell it out for me.
Mom: Well, the kids were watching this movie, and every time they heard the F-word, they had to take a drink. (Mom laughs indulgently). Yeah, they got plastered. Put ‘em to bed in my son’s room.
Me: (thinking as I drove home) Golly, I was watching Ozzie and Harriet just the other day, with my eldest (high school age, sweet, loving, adorable, virginal, drug-free ooo, I love her so much I could eat her with a spoon) daughter, and I realized: I’m such an old-fashioned dirt-bag of a mom. Geez, what a loser. Here I thought I was doing her a favor by steering her away from the harrowing foibles of my misspent youth. My poor kid. How the bleepity, bleep is she going to learn to drink? Neither Ozzie nor Harriet dropped the F-Bomb once! When I got home, I immediately threw that DVD out. Then, I took inventory of our cupboards and realized, if she’s gonna get high, she’s gonna have to settle for tablespoon of vanilla on the rocks. Couple the vanilla with Ricky Nelson and her seven-year-old brother (who will occasionally crawl into bed with her when he has his recurring bad snake dream) you ain’t got much of a partay, know-whut-ahm-sayin-ma-man?
So, I’m headed back to the store for a copy of Bruce Willis’s Die Hard with a Vengeance, a case of Bud, a pack of smokes and a bag boy or two. We’ll giter up to speed. That way, she’ll be more acceptable in today’s society. After all, I wouldn’t want her to be…different.
Carolyn
