Mom Fight

When you're walking through a heavily-gardened neighborhood after a good rain, things smell awfully good. It makes you want to grow things, but mainly peonies because they're big and heavy, they're gorgeous, and they're the only flower that doubles as a pillow. So I called my mom today to ask her to keep an eye out for a peony bush, and somehow the conversation got turned around so that I'm in trouble for being a bad wife. You know how moms sometimes ask questions that they don't need to ask? Like what you ate for dinner? Or were you the one to make the dinner? And if you weren't the one to make the dinner, why weren't you the one to make the dinner? Let me just clear things up for everyone -- if you're the girl in the boy/girl thang, you're the one that's supposed to make the dinner. Also, you should know what the boy half of the thang ate for dinner even if you weren't eating the dinner with him. Because that's your job. You're the girl. You do the food. Make sure you know what's going on. The worst part of the whole thing? My mom tells me that "if your dad were around he'd have a shit hemorrhage". Which is both a pretty nasty mental picture and a blow below the garter belt. Thanks, mom.

So that ended well -- I told Mom that just because she's hot on Cleaver doesn't mean everyone else is. Especially her daughter who enjoys sporting events, motorcycles, and pants.

P.S. Sometimes I enjoy making meals. I always enjoy vacuuming, and I get a strange high from sweeping the floor. But tell me it's the woman's job to do anything, and I swear to god I'll rip my bra off (already off -- see post: http://beckause.blogspot.com/2011/05/to-bra-or-not-to-bra.html) and set something less expensive on fire.