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Conversations with my mother #9.

These are conversations via email with my mother. This little exchange happened while she was at work (she works for the governor) eating way too many sweets.

 

MY MOM:  I am very very sick – you need to come get me and drive me home. Someone brought cookies and someone brought spice nuts.  There is groaning and whimpering as I type.

ME:  By the way, I meant to thank you for passing on ZERO self control to me where sweets are concerned. Appreciate it. Now go eat your bottle of Tums.

MOM:  That is soooo mean.  I don’t have any Tums and the Doctor of the Day doesn’t start till the Legislative Session.

ME:  You need to go back to Crazy Barbara who ALWAYS had Tums on her person.

MOM:  I don’t think you have to worry, there are other criteria for “crazy” besides Tums addiction.

ME:  Oh I know Crazy. I’ve got the whole Crazy Handbook memorized.

MOM:  Let’s make up a story where I am the sane sensible one.  I can bribe the children to go along.

ME:  I was referring to my vast knowledge of Crazy because of my in-laws. In that context you are the sane one. Also, when do you get your numbers back for your failing liver? (My mother has no vices, aside from sweets. She doesn’t drink or smoke or eat much red meat. She’s active and thin. So for no apparent reason she has high blood pressure and the medicine they put her on to lower the blood pressure was causing liver failure.  Awesome.)

MOM: Friday morning.

ME:  When do I have to lay off the hootch? Cus you know you want mine… my liver likes to party. (My sister and I are in a custody battle over the whole thing. We both want to be the one to donate our liver if it comes to a transplant. It’s like crazy medical sibling rivalry.)

MOM:  I think there are many things we have to try first so you don’t have to dry out for a few months. 

ME:  Ok, but I don’t want you setting your sites on Julie’s liver. You’ll have such a better shot if you go with mine. It’s combat hardened.

MOM:  I have rethought this.  Maybe I should just pick out something flattering, put it on, and lay down with my arms crossed.

ME:  Don’t be silly. We have big plans to pull your plug as soon as your earning potential has ceased and then bury you in that jumper. And once you have my innards you’ll be just fine til that day comes. 

MOM:  So sad to say the Jumper didn’t make it.  I may find another before my your innards give out.

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12 comments to Conversations with my mother #9.

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