Maybe I should've been nicer to My Mother. But I just wasn't going to let go of what she said and how she said it, again.
I mean, this: It's Mother's Day, of course, and I went downstairs to wish Mother so. But she was busy taking an order on her cell, so I thought I'd wait till maybe dinner or some other time. I'm at their computer checking up on how to chill champagne when she comes in asking me about her cell: "I don't get any reception. What's wrong with the phone?"
There were no bars on it, and it said "Emergency Only." This is something I sometimes got with my old phone when I tried to call on it from downstairs. Not only was she downstairs when she was using the phone, she was in a part of the downstairs completely walled off and was behind the central air.
I ask her a seemingly innocuous question designed to elicit information that would help me diagnose the problem. The snag -- My Fucking Mother didn't want to hear it.
My question: "Does this happen just when you're downstairs?"
Her reply: "It doesn't matter whether or not it's downstairs!"
Back and forth we went. It was Mother's Day, so maybe I should've just acquiesced and gave her an answer. But I couldn't answer unless she answered my question. So I decided to beg: "Please answer my question." But she kept giving me variations of "it doesn't matter!" We probably weren't listening to each other, but that's how My Fucking Mother is, and I guess that's how I am.
She needed my help opening that cellphone's back cover because she switched to a different old phone of hers.
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Mother also praised me for the champagne I poured for dinner, even though it is the same ol' reliable sparkling wine we always get.
But when Father asked me if I wanted another piece of a great-tasting steak we were eating, Mother jumped in: "You bitch about him getting too fat and now you ask if he wants another steak?!" Oh, whatev, Mother.
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