Loose Lips Sink Your Mother

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speak-no-evil

One of the functions of my Attention Deficit Disorder, is that…OCCASIONALLY…something will pop into my head, and then fly out of my mouth, seemingly of its own volition. Inexplicably, the victim of these verbal attacks is usually my mother, who, thankfully, doesn’t always hear me, and on those occasions when she does, usually does nothing at all to discourage me. This, of course, begs the question, does it happen in her presence because it seems to amuse her, or have I, over time, just dragged her down to my inappropriate level?

Exhibits A-E:

(As she pulled the car out of a space.)
Mom: “Don’t worry, I’m going to pull it out.”
Me: “Pfffft, I’ve heard that shit before.”
Mom: “What?”
Me: “Nothing.”

Mom: “Your dad got a huge piece of meat.”
Me: “No wonder you’re still married.”
Mom: “What?”
Me: “Sirloin?”
Mom: (eyeing me suspiciously) “Yeah…”

Mom: “Well, what do you find attractive about a man?”
Me: “A vasectomy scar.”
Mom: (snort)

Mom: “I have no idea why anyone would find that man attractive. Why are women fighting over him? He must have a LOT of money.”
Me: “Or a 5 inch tongue.”
Mom: (slapping my arm)

Annnnd…apparently, it’s not just me.

(My friend, since forever, Matt, talking to my mother, a nurse, about his last physical.)
Mom: “Did they take blood?”
Matt: “Yeah, and hey, I have to ask you a question…is that thing where they cup you and then have you cough…is that really necessary?”
Mom: “Yes, it really is, they’re checking you for a hernia. Have they done a prostate exam on you, yet?”
Matt: “Huh?”
Mom: “Have they done an exam where they put a finger up your butt?”
Matt: “That’s not an exam, that’s foreplay.” (clapping hands over his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to stuff words back in, as my mother doubled-over laughing)

My would-be drug dealer texts me…

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lsd-cat

Britta: So what’s going on with the boy?

Me: He’s coming home a week early from vacation, and we’re hanging out Wednesday.

Britta: I’ll need details.  Nervous?

Me: A little.

Britta: Take one of your Ativan.

Me: I don’t have any Ativan.  I have ADDEROL…lol…I don’t think being able to clean his entire house is a good move.

Britta: I got a bunch when my mom was passing, I might have extra.  They’re great, you’ll be super relaxed.

Me: I don’t need tranquilizers!  I need to take a deep breath, not take a shit on his couch.

Britta: LOL…true…well, if you change your mind.

Me: Sure, if I want to take a shit on his couch, I’ll give you a ring.