So what I’m going to tell you actually happened on the 7th day of Hanukkah, December 11th, but I’ve been too depressed to blog. Everyone says that being depressed is actually the best time to blog, but that’s a blog topic for another blog post…
So back to what I was telling you. You already know, or you should, that I’ve been forced to live with my mother and stepfather due to a horrible moving mishap. And you may not know that while my mother is a lovely, intelligent, intuitive person that looks incredible for her age, she is also insane.
I’m absolutely sure she is obsessive compulsive, to a fault. And she has a Type-A+++ personality. She is overbearing, as any OCD, ADD Jewish Mother should be, and I am the object of her domineering need to obliterate me with her love. (Reading this would kill her!)
For more than 2 weeks I had been putting up with the Hovering Jewish Mother (Sally Field’s Flying Nun has nothing on my mom!) when she finally broke the camel’s back with that proverbial straw. I had just returned from taking a tinkle to “my” desk in my sister’s old room when I heard a knock on the door. I really did not want to answer but I did. She opened the door and had a coy, almost coquettish grin on her face. I knew I was in for it but I really had no idea just how far in.
“I really have to teach you how to pee,”
she said with a silly grin on her face.
As if I hadn’t heard what I clearly had heard, I replied,
“I had to teach your step-father how to pee correctly too.”
As if that confession would relieve the retched strains of embarrassment I was now feeling.
I was already broken, like a prisoner of war, and all I could muster was,
“We are not having this discussion.”
That was it. She had, at the very least, just undone years of therapy. What a waste of time. Of money. And I had nothing left. Yet she went on.
“Alan, this is serious. You’ll ruin the marble floor! Marble is porous!”
I told her I’d be more careful and then, after she left and had closed the door behind her, I searched the floor for my balls.