|I know she looks pretty hip...|
So, many years ago, we took a family vacation--the whole fam,--Chris included--and it was the '90's, so "deez nuts" had become a common joke. In true, inappropriate Kevin and Chris style, they were whipping out deez nuts jokes around my family constantly. No one was immune to getting sucked into the deez nuts trap (oh, maybe bad choice of words there), and then the family would crumble into piles of laughter after Chris and Kevin had duped one of us again. So we get home from vacation, Mom is slaving away at the laundry, while the rest of us catch up on recorded--with a VCR!!--television programs. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Mom comes running into the living room and says, in a frenzy, "Guys! Guess what I left in the hotel room????" We all look at her inquiringly. "THOOOOOOSE BALLLLLS!!!"
For many years, I was a super, super single girl. I was completely uninterested in dating any straight men, but my favorite past-time was hitting up the gay bar with who I liked to call my Gay Husband. He was my absolute favorite person to hang out with, and I always got a big kick out of the people who'd see us out and assume he was my straight boyfriend and ask me when I thought we'd get engaged. Awesome. So, I ended up, one New Year's Eve, at a party where I knew almost no one, but I quickly became a hit at the party, because there was no shortage of gay men, and I am like Owensboro's version of Kathy Griffin. Later, I was recounting the story to my mother, who commented that it was my lot in life to be surrounded by amazingly attractive and charismatic men who had no interest in me whatsoever. "That's just fine," she noted. "You'll just be a gay nag." That's right, gay nag. I know exactly the label she was trying to put on me--but won't say it here--but I'm fairly sure she had no idea that she was completely mistaken.
|On her wedding day. In the can.|
Strike three. She's out.
I think, at that point, we put her on talking restriction, which happens often in our family, but doesn't necessarily stop her from trying. She may not be the hippest, coolest, most crass Mom on the planet, but she's mine. And I love her and love the hilarious stories she provides. So, keep keeping on, Mom, and maybe one day you'll get it right. But I doubt it.