Mom: Hello.Me: Hey, Mom, it’s me!
Mom: Oh, hi honey! I was just thinking about you.
Me: You were?
Mom: Well...no.
Me: I don’t know why I ever call you, old woman. When I stick you in the nursing home, I’m going to “forget” the address.
Mom: You know, you’re not too old for me to poison your dinner.
Me: You’re not...that doesn’t make any sense.
Mom: Cut me a break, I’m really stressed out.
Me: Not more animal trouble, I hope?
Mom: Not since I got rid of that damn dog. That’ll teach him to shit in my car.
Me: If only I had a nickel for every time I heard you say that.
Mom: Anyway, no, my stress isn’t about animals, it’s about kids.
Me: Which begs the question, what the hell are you talking about?
Mom: Okay, well, you remember my friend? The one with cancer?
Me: Yes.
Mom: Well, she kind of asked me to take care of her kids when she dies.
Me: Oh, wow. And you said?
Mom: Well, I said no. I mean, I’m honored, but I’m old, you know? Her son is six, and I’m just way too old for that shit now.
Me: It’s still flattering that she’d as—
Mom: No. No, no. It doesn’t stop there. She kept bugging me about until I finally told her I’d “think about it”, you know, just to make her feel a little better.
Me: Oh no.
Mom: Then yesterday she told the nurse that her really good friend is “definitely” going to take care of the children when she dies! She thinks I’m going to take care of her three kids! I couldn’t even stop my dog from shitting in my car, and she wants me to take her kids.
Me: Well, maybe she didn’t mean you, necessarily, when she said her “really good friend.”
Mom: I thought of that, so I asked the nurse what she said, specifically, and the nurse told me she couldn’t remember what the name of the friend was, but that it wasn’t my name.
Me: Well, see, there you go—
Mom: But she thinks my name is ‘Bea’! She doesn’t know what my real name is!
Me: ...
Mom: And she’s delirious with drugs, so there’s no telling—stop laughing!
Me: Mom, how does it happen that some woman who doesn’t even know your name wants to leave you custody of her children?
Mom: I don’t know, but now I have to go to the hospital and tell a dying woman that she needs to find somebody else to take care of her kids, like, “sorry about the misunderstanding!”
Me: You do see how this is totally not a normal problem, right? You get that this doesn’t happen to normal people?
Mom: I don’t care about normal people. Right now, I’m trying to think of the best way to say, “I brought you a copy of the paper, and, by the way, find someone else to watch over your children.”
Me: May I recommend not that way?
Mom: She really needs to find someone younger. Someone who doesn’t have to go the doctor for a tune-up every three-thousand miles. I’ve got more crap going wrong with me than an episode of Gilligan’s Island, I can’t take three little kids!
Me: You don’t have to convince me.
Mom: What is that supposed to mean? Are you casting aspersions on my maternal abilities? Because I’ll smack you.
Me: All I’m saying is—OH MY GOSH!
Mom: What? What is it?
Me: Get away! Mom, a huge, scary, gimpy pigeon just landed on the table, like, six inches from me! It wants to eat my food!
Mom: Where are you?
Me: I’m at the coffee shop—GET AWAY! Mom, it won’t get away!
Mom: ...I think you need to calm—
Me: Mom, it’s coming closer! It’s huge, and it’s got a gimpy foot, and its eyes burn like coals from hell! GET AWAY FROM MY FOOD!
Mom: Honey? It’s a bird.
Me: It’s not “a bird”! It’s, like, Rodan!
Mom: Just...shoo it away! Wave at it.
Me: I tried that already, and it looked at my hand like it was an appetizer.
Mom: Well, what exactly do you want me to do about it?
Me: Call someone! Animal Control, or Batman or something!
Mom: I think you’ll be fine.
Me: Easy for you to say. Bea.
Mom: Shut up.