EVERY time I see you, Mom, you ask the same thing: "So, when you and your brother and sisters get together, is the only thing you talk about what a pain in the butt I am?" Mom, you've always
been a painSince it's almost Mother's Day, Mom, I'll give you an honest answer. The answer is no, it's not the only thing Marilyn, Debbie, Rick and I talk about. We talk about other things, too. Besides what a pain in the butt you are.
Now that I'm fresh back from a six-day visit with you, let's take a look at the condition of my butt.
I guess it wasn't that big a deal that you wouldn't let me rent a car and insisted on getting up at 5 a.m. to drive 40 miles to the airport to pick me up. I didn't press my point that your car is pushing 100,000 miles and didn't need the wear and tear of carting me hundreds of miles all over Los Angeles.
The real posterior pangs started after Uncle Henry said you had an oil leak and you spent the rest of the week obsessing that we were going to break down on the freeway and die. You still wouldn't let me rent a car so you could get yours checked. Now that was a pain in the butt.
Then there was the bed. I asked to stay in your guest room because it had a phone jack and electrical outlet I could use to check my e-mail. But you hounded me until I agreed to take your bed, where there was no place to set up my computer.
In addition to feeling guilty about displacing a 72-year-old woman from her own bed, I had to trip over wires to set up my computer in the dining room every night. I loved how you pointed at my computer and said, "That damn thing is what's putting all my friends out of work."
My okole really stung when you started nagging me to call relatives.
"Mom, I swear on my mother's life that I'll call before I leave. I beg you to drop it."
"OK. I won't mention it again."
"Thank you."
"But you'll call?"
"I promise."
"OK, I'll shut up. You'll call tomorrow?"
Oww, my aching butt.
Let's not forget the dinner with Marilyn, Joe and Tim. Our food came but Marilyn's was late for some reason. You looked at my full plate of salmon and salad and decided I didn't have enough food.
"Here David, take some of mine. I insist. I have too much and you don't have enough."
Marilyn, who didn't have any food at all, watched in disbelief. And you wonder why the poor sweet girl blames me for that complex of hers!
The more I think about it, Mom, you've always been a pain in the butt. When I graduated from high school with straight D's, you were such a pain that I gave up the trip to Mexico with my friends and spent the summer figuring out how to get into college despite my lousy grades.
WHEN my friends started using drugs, I wanted to get high and have a good time, too. But I saw your face and remembered you nagging me about drugs all those years. I didn't even try marijuana until once late into my 20s and even then I couldn't enjoy it. What a pain in the butt.
Then there were the times nothing in my life was going right and you were such a pain about applying patience and perspective that I stuck in and got everything straightened out.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Thanks for being such a pain in the butt.