In Fine Form

Went to see two venues today with Mom, had lunch, went shopping at two Nordstrom's (y'all KNOW how much I hate shopping, especially for clothes for ME) -- then to my brother's house for dinner.

What a day.

And my mother was in fine form.

(RING RING Specialty-Sing-Song-RING of my cell phone. I pick it up immediately.)

Me: Hi, there!
Him: What's up?
Me: Actually I'm in the car with Mom but I don't have my headset on. Can we talk later?
Him: Yeah, sure, I'll call you.
Me: Everything okay?
Him: Everything's good. Bye.

(I hang up.)

Mom: Who was that?
Me: Guy.
Mom: Guy -- again? Why is he always calling you?

(Deep breath.)

Me: Mom, HE likes ME.
Mom: Oh. He must not have anyone else to talk to.
Me: Mom! Don't you think anyone could like me?
Mom: Well, I guess Jack liked you. He was always calling you whenever you were here. But he didn't have anyone to talk to either, did he?

I want to die. Is this what my mother really thinks of me? But I don't know how to "die" in front of my mother, I don't know how to tell her how hurtful she's being. So what comes out?

A big cackle. A guffaw. And then a big belly-aching belly laugh as I miss the onramp to Stevens Creek for the second time.

Tears are running down my face because we are laughing so hard.

I finally get it out:

Me: Mother, stop it right now. Not one more word. NOT ONE.
Mom: I guess I'm helping you get lost, huh?
Me: Please, Mother. Be quiet!

I find the Valley Fair Nordstrom's and park the car in silence.

Before we leave the car, the final proclamation (as best as my ability to deal with it anyway):

Me: I can't believe you think that about me, Mom -- and that you said it.

(And for the ultimate revenge):
Me: YOU'RE GONNA SEE THIS IN A PLAY SOMEDAY.

So there.