Conversations With My Mother

My mother and I have a great relationship.  I have a few self esteem issues that I'd like to blame on my parents, but other than that I grew up in a wonderful, loving environment.  Lately, like all 73 year olds, my mother has a few Idiosyncrasies that leave her children stumped and laughing, but stumped.

Today I called my mother to see how she was feeling and catch up since I hadn't talked with her in a day or two.   I start each conversation with my mother like this, "Hello, how are you doing?"  This means, in my mother's lingo, tell me what happen since I last talked to you, and please don't let me get a word in edgewise. 

So I give her the springboard for her monologue and she starts in.  Apparently she is trying to get her dog Rosie, pictured above, into her car to take her to the grooming salon.  

I am going to stop right here and interject a few things about Rosie (a.k.a Rosebud, Rose, Roosevelt, Rosalinda).  First, Rosie is referred as "Satan's Spawn" by my siblings and myself behind their backs.  Really, I swear, I am a HUGE dog person.  I love my dog, even with all her faults, but this dog?  I have my doubts.  Maybe it is because my parents treat Rosie as if she were my sibling.  Maybe it is that Rosie is not trained (through no fault of her own) and treats my parents home as a urinal, has ruined thousands of dollars worth of hearing aides, shoes, craft projects, computer cords, etc.  Maybe it is because she constantly trips my parents and drags them around by her leash.

Back to my mother trying to get Rosie in the car...the reason my mother is taking her back to the salon, she was groomed there earlier in the week, was because she wanted to buy a new coat for Rosie.  It seems that when my mother was there earlier in the week they didn't have a coat that fit Rosie.  The logical assumption was that they were out of stock, right?  

No.   Rosie was too fat for the coat.  It gets better.  After trying on each one of the coats in stock it appears that none of the coats fit around the rotund Rose-a-belle.  Not even the  larger dog sized coats.

I start to chuckle out loud.  My mother had to special order a coat for Rosie that had an extra long tab for Rosie's enormous mid section.  I laugh.  My mother continues...I just don't know why those coats don't fit her.  She has gained a little weight, (she's 14 pounds!) but I just don't know why those coats aren't fitting her.  I'm going to take Rosie back out there to make sure the one that the lady made will fit around her middle.  

At this point I am laughing out loud and my mother is demurely ignoring me, continuing with her errand story.  My mother likes to do this.  Ignore the other conversation participant and tell her story.  She is monologuing on how Rosie could have ever gotten so fat and what is making her that way.  I go against the grain and seize the opportunity.  

"I can tell you why Rosie is so fat," I interject.  My mother stops talking.  I continue,"She's so fat because you sprinkle a half a cup of cheese on her dry food every night.  She's so fat because Dad feeds her a steady diet of Chex mix all day.  She's so fat because you carry her.  She is so fat because she follows around Dad sneaking his food.  She's so fat because..."  I am ON A ROLL.  I am channeling some comedian and it is getting lost on my mother.

My mother interrupts, "Oh, I thought you were going to say that Rosie was fat because she doesn't get any exercise."

Well, there is that.