My Mom is Quite Generous With Her Gift

I'm down in my back. That's how my mom would say it. That means my back is hurtin' for certain. It also means I am getting old. I blame my mom. Not for me getting old, of course, though she did have a hand in it right from the beginning. No, I mean she is the reason I am down in my back.

I called Mom this morning before she left for church. As is her way (and not at all my own, of course) she got to telling me a story. I cranked Hick's La-Z-Boy back to get comfortable. I'm sure this is hard to believe, but Mom's stories sometimes take the scenic route.

"I went by the credit union to pay my Christmas Club, and that friend of Genius was working. I know you told me about him the last time you went. How you were surprised he had that job when he's going to school to be an engineer. He was actually at the other teller window, but he came over to mine and started to talk." Let the record show that those teller windows are covered with bulletproof glass, and have a small metal scoop at the bottom for feeding in transactions and receiving receipts. Not that it's in the high crime area of Backroads. We don't have one.

"You're Genius's grandma, aren't you? The next time you see Genius, tell him I said 'Hi'."

"So I told him, 'I'm surprised you're working here. I know you're going to college. What are you majoring in?' And he said, 'Accounting.' Then I asked if he was working full time, and he said no, that he was just working two days a week until college was out, and then he'd probably work more. Is he not going to college with Genius when he gets out of junior college? I thought he had the same plan for a degree."

"I thought so too. I'll ask Genius. He doesn't really keep up with his high school friends anymore."

"So I said to him, 'I'm surprised to see you in here. I thought they were looking for a girl.' And he said, 'Yeah, I think they were.' Was that the wrong thing to say?"

"Well...he is one of the most chauvinistic of Genius's friends. He used to tell his girlfriend, 'Shut up, woman, and go make me a sammich.' He was teasing. But not completely."

"Oh. You know how I can't keep my mouth shut. I kept talking to him, and he was being friendly, and then he said, 'Well...it's time for my lunch break. I have to go.' I guess I talk too much. Did I tell you about buying the donuts?"

"Yes, Mom. I know you got free donuts. Maybe that was THAT guy's way of telling you it was time for his lunch."

"I told a man at church that story, and how I felt guilty about getting free donuts, and he said he might just try that, because he would LOVE to get free donuts."

"Sorry, Mom. It's time for my breakfast now."

"Okay. You have a nice...wait a minute. I know what you're doing!"

"Uh huh. I'll talk to you tonight. I'm sure you've got a lot of people to talk to at church."

My mom has a gift. The gift of gab. In sharing her gift with me this morning, she also gave me something else. A strained muscle in my back. Or a rib out of place, if that's possible. I was leaning sideways on the armrest of the La-Z-Boy, and when she said how that boy told her it was time for his lunch, I snorted. And chuckled. Kind of at the same time, so you might say I snuckled. That's the exact moment I felt a stabbing sensation behind my liver.

The pain goes around the side, and is sensitive to touch. It's kind of a bad pain. I can't get a deep breath. Sneezing and coughing are agony. It's not gallstone bad, or childbirth bad, or broken-bone bad, or migraine bad. But it's bad.

I don't think I ever hurt myself laughing when I was younger. For anyone who thought Val was a spring chicken, born yesterday...here's the anecdotal evidence she was not.