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I Am Mean

My mom says I am a "MEAN PERSON". She made this observation about an hour ago. After a leisurely nap, I began reading my book. Was feeling hungry and wandered downstairs to the kitchen for a snack. Mom is in the living room watching television. I am hovering around the microwave, anxiously waiting for the cheese to melt over my tortilla chips, reading and entertaining fantasies about becoming a famous writer.

Yeah, I live with my mom. I recently got married, so I moved in with Mom to sort out my belongings and save money before I move to New York. My husband already lives there. He's a musician, so while I am stuck here in mom's spare room located squarely in the heart of Mormon Country, Happy Valley, he is sweating on swarms of adoring fans at rock shows in the Big Apple. I am deeply immersed in my book and my delusions of grandeur, and Mom is in the living room cackling at some television commercial. A COMMERCIAL, for fuck sakes!
"Come see this one!"
"Mom, I don't care about the commercial." A few minutes go buy.
"Monica!" We are the only two people in the house, and every time she wants to tell me something, she calls my name first, as if she could be speaking to someone else. Perhaps I won't know she's talking to me if she doesn't address me by my name? You were talking to me about you day at work? My mistake, I thought you were talking to the dog. Every time she calls out my name, I have to yell "What?" in response. She may or may not respond right away, perhaps distracted by something on TV. By the time we finally get into the actual conversation I am deeply annoyed, and she tells me I'm mean. A regular conversation generally goes as follows;
Mom calls from downstairs: "Monica!"
Me, impatiently from upstairs: "What?"
Hours go buy. The hair on my legs grows. I actually see this happen. I observe that my toenail polish needs replacing, I run my finger over the giant, thick-as-a-tree-trunk goat hair that has suddenly sprouted from my chin. I am trying to read "Star" magazine. Brad and Jen have just called it quits. This is crucial reading and I am stuck in limbo hell, unable to focus, waiting for her to respond.
Finally, after my hair has grown an inch, "Do you work today?"
Jesus Christ. I work Monday through Friday. Is it that difficult to keep straight?

So anyway, tonight I am fixing myself a cheesy snack and reading my book. It's my day off. Am enjoying some time to mysel---
Sigh. "What!" Seconds go buy. "What?" I shout again, my voice sharp with annoyance.
More silence. "What!!!" I yell impatiently.
"God you're mean. You are just a MEAN person. I only wanted to ask if you've seen the commercial where the clydesdales get into a snowball fight."
"I don't care about the commercial, ma." I try to continue reading but can't. I feel terrible. I am in her home, after all, snacking on her food. I try to mend fences.
"What's the commercial for?" I feign interest. Too late. She hates me. And I had been so pleased. We had made it to noon without declaring our hatred for each other and me threatening to leave.
"Everybody knows clydesdales are for Bud Light. Geez." She yells back at me three years later.
My mother knows this bit of trivia?

My new husband just text messaged me. "I AM A GOLDEN GOD!"
"You're obviously high. Who gave you cocaine?" I text back. Married life while living with mom. Fan-fucking-tastic.

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Reader Comments (1)

At least he didn't say "I am a golden rod!" THAT would have hurt.
October 25, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterJennifer

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