I feel like a prized cow. My mom gives me so much fodder I must share some with you, lest I burst one of my four stomachs.
I called Mom this morning, and caught her chewing. Not a cud. That's me. Mom always calls me when I'm eating, even though that happens at odd hours around here. And no, it's not a matter of me constantly eating from sunup to sundown. So when she picked up, I said, "Are you EATING?" Let the record show that it was 8:20 a.m.
"Um. Yes...I just put a Cheeto in my mouth. I have NOT been drinking."
"That sounds suspicious! Who would even bring up drinking? Maybe that's what you were REALLY doing!"
"No it isn't! I've got a Cheeto in my mouth, and I need to get rid of it! What do you want me to do, spit it on the floor?"
"Uh, no...chew it up like a normal person. Are you sure your haven't been drinking?"
"No! The alcohol is in the basement. I have a cup of Diet Coke, and I haven't even taken a drink of it yet."
"You have ALCOHOL in your BASEMENT? Now the truth comes out. SURE it's in the basement. You probably have a jug of moonshine in the crook of your arm, swigging from it while I'm talking."
"Oh, it's just a bottle that somebody gave your dad before he retired. It must be 17 or 20 years old."
"What IS it? Does it have XXX on it? Like the jug you're swilling from?"
"I don't know what it is. I was thinking about giving it to Hick the next time he comes to mow the yard."
"Oh, you can't give it to him before. He has to earn it!"
"No. I pay him to mow the yard. But I don't want to give it to him now."
"It's probably no good. It might poison him. Like the glue on the cheap envelopes that George gave Susan for their wedding invitations."
"Well, I don't know. Maybe it gets better with age. I'll go get it. Hold on."
"You don't have to go down in the basement now."
"I was just down there, doing laundry. It's only four steps. I'll be right back." Mom left the family room and headed for the basement. "Here it is. It says it's J A C Q U E S."
"You mean Jacques? Like in Jacques Cousteau?"
"I don't know how to say it. But that's how it's spelled. Then it says, B O N E T."
"But what IS it? Is it wine? Is it liquor? Is it Boone's Farm Strawberry Wine?"
"I don't know. It says Extra Dry."
"Extra Dry what? Read the rest of it."
"Extra Dry California Champagne."
"I don't think champagne ages like wine. It's probably vinegar by now. Does it have a cork? Or is it one of those metal screw tops?"
"Oh, it's still good. It has that metal foil wrapped all the way down from the top to the middle of the bottle."
"Is there a year on it?"
"I don't see a year. It has those lines, like, to tell how much it is."
"What? Like, to tell how many liters you are pouring out? Wait! You mean like a bar code? To tell the price? I'm pretty sure fine wines that improve with age don't have bar codes on the label. And I don't think champagne is something you let sit for years. Does it say anything else on the label. Like a date?"
"No...it says Culver California. And here's something. A safety warning. Oh. It's about how to open the bottle. 'Point bottle away from...'"
"Oh! Did you know there's a ceremonial way to open champagne? Like, a Russian soldier takes his sabre and lops off the end of the bottle, right through the neck, glass and all! The Pony has a lot of swords. I'll bet he has a sabre. And Hick can probably find a Russian soldier's uniform at the auction! They can have a regular ceremonial opening of your bottle of 20-year-old champagne!"
"Well, it's here. Tell Hick that I have it for him the next time he comes to mow my yard."
Yeah. My mom is a font of fodder that never runs dry. Oh, and she also messed up her DISH by falling asleep, then thinking she was turning it off, then on. She had some full-screen ad for programming. Thanks to the instructions of the DISH guy and her five-dollar daughter, Mom thought, "Hm. They said I would use the CANCEL button more than anything. I'll just hit CANCEL." So she did. VOILA! Her channels were right there again.
Thank goodness her little technological faux pas did not drive her to drink.
According to Google, that stuff is made to be consumed right away. It does not age well and is not particularly good stuff to begin with.
ReplyDeleteProbably better than a dirty water cocktail though.
Evidently she wouldn't need to drive far for a drink.
ReplyDeleteI think your mom needs to set up a still or a grape mashing vat in her basement. She could earn coleslaw money that way...
ReplyDeleteHick and mom could go into business. That moonshine is probably poisonous.
ReplyDeleteYour mother is a hoot. I was recently looking at some of my lesser-used spices (and I'm an infrequent spicer as it is), and if they were human, some would possibly be composing a graduate thesis right around now. I say we get together a gift basket. Got any unpleasant neighbors?
ReplyDeleteLove your posts about your mom. She sounds like a real character!
ReplyDeleteI've heard of wine and champagne selling for big bucks at auction at Christy's. Maybe you should have Mom keep it a little longer. Then it will be at least worth five bucks.
ReplyDeletejoeh,
ReplyDeleteI don't know. At least a dirty-water cocktail would be fresh. And probably wouldn't make a person croak like poor Susan. I sure don't want to sit on a board of director's for Hick's foundation, because people would talk about me when I leave the room, and I would have to put a tape recorder in a briefcase and leave it behind, and then somebody would destroy the tape recorder.
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Stephen,
I still picture her with an earthenware moonshine jug slung across her elbow, popping the cork and swilling from that XXX-marked vessel.
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Sioux,
That reminds me, I haven't checked on her coleslaw supply lately. Maybe she could sell her "special recipe" to her neighbor. To keep him from trying to help her all the time.
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Linda,
So...you're suggesting they go into the business of poisoning people? That's not going to be good for my business if I give them counter space at my proposed handbasket factory.
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Tammy,
My neighbors are surprisingly well-behaved, but Mom has that one who is too, too helpful in her eyes. Maybe she could give him a spice basket for his 4th of July party, in plenty of time before the fireworks start.
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Donna,
Oh, she's a character all right. Sometimes I have to stop myself from acting like her.
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Leenie,
Yeah. And come to think of it, Mom has not given me five dollars in quite a while. Now Hick is going to be the Five-Dollar-Champagne Son-In-Law.