My parents are visiting me this week, which means that I've been keeping a running tally in my head of all the off-beat, quirky or just plain freaking weird things my mother has said over the past several days.
Keep in mind that the woman gave birth to six children. And I am one of them. And I am one of the normal ones. So I think she's allowed a few strange, goofy, non-sequitor comments here and there. It's when they start to run together in a conversation that sometimes makes me wonder if she slipped some acid into my coffee when I wasn't looking (the only reason I know she hasn't is that my mother can't even look at my coffee maker without the thing exploding in a shower of little black grounds and shards of plastic...see the Slacker! entry for clarification).
So think I'll just list some of the more memorable exchanges here. And bear in mind that if some of these sound incredibly random and out-of-context, that's because they are.
Me: So I guess Jeff and I should hurry up and have another kid....
My Mom: Oh, I'll help you!
My Mom: Oh, tee-hee, I mean I'll help you with them. I'll watch them for you!
My Mom (loudly as we walk through the middle of the mall): Sorry I took so long in there (meaning Victoria's Secret). I had such a hard time finding ones I liked that weren't total granny panties.
My Mom: Pissant. I like that word. It's so...evocative. It evokes a sort of...I don't know what. Pissant.
My Dad (after looking through the onscreen TV guide and reading some titles out loud): The MILF next door.
My Mom: The what next door?
My Dad: MILF.
My Mom: Milk?
My Dad: MILF! M-I-L-F.
My Mom: What does that mean?
My Dad: You don't want to know.
My Mom: Why not? Why can't I know?
My Dad: Mom I'd Love To...Fornicate.
My Mom: Oh. Ew.
My Mom (as I'm unloading the dishwasher for the twenty-seventh time in two days): Oh, she's so charming.
Me: Who is?
My Mom: That freaky little girl.
Me (thinking she's talking about Elsa, who is walking around the family room with a blanket over her head and running into walls--her new favorite passtime): What freaky little girl?
My Mom: Lindsey What's-Her-Name.
Me (still clueless because I haven't been parked on the couch watching Nancy Grace for the past five hours like some people in the room): Lindsey Lohan?
My Mom: What is she doing?
Me: I don't know, lots of drugs, I guess?
My Mom: Isn't she going to bonk her head?
Me: ....I don't know...maybe...if she's high enough....
My Mom: Is she pretending to be a ghost?
My Mom: Your daughter.
Me: ...I thought you were talking about Lindsey Lohan.
My Mom: I am. She had F You written on her fingernail. I can't even write that small.
And then today I took my parents to The Fountain of Youth in St. Augustine. On the park grounds are all these peacocks--big blue-chested males and beautiful snowy albino peacocks and female peacocks. The female peacocks are actually called pea-hens. Which apparently my mother loved saying, because she kept repeating it over and over and over to my children whenever a female peacock wandered by. Look Elsa, a pea-hen! Ooo, here comes a pea-hen, Rollie. Maybe that pea-hen wants a Goldfish cracker, Beck. Pea-hen, pea-hen, pea-hen. I seriously think the word cock, even when attached to pea, makes her uncomfortable. How she came to have six children I will never understand.
Disclaimer: My dad and I had an extensive discussion about whether I should have added the preposition 'with' after 'fornicate' in the above transcription. We didn't really come to a conclusion, mainly because my father wanted to know what my question was in reference to and when I told him he said, "...maybe you should leave that part of the blog out." So my apologies if that section of the blog is grammatically incorrect. And my apologies to my dad for not removing the aforementioned section. That's the beauty of being an adult--I can defy my father and not worry about getting grounded. I'm sure he'll come up with another form of punishment. Like making me watch Nancy Grace with my mother for five hours.