Such was the case Wednesday night. She asked me I didn't ask the DMV about getting her tabs. I told her if I saw a bill from the DMV about tabs, I would've told her. Here's the thing: My parents' tabs expired in June. And neither of my parental units noticed until fucking Wednesday. Can you believe it? And My Fucking Mother has the balls to blame me. This is why I don't have kids.
OK, so she asks me to e-mail the DMV. She then says some bullshit about being able to buy tabs at yellow kiosk in this chain of grocery store. I hear her squawk about this and I think she's starting to have dementia. I mean, I have seen kiosks at this grocery store make keys (which I guess is kind of weird in and of itself), but creating tabs that you can stick on your license plate? Get outta here with that bullshit, Mom, I'm going to see a play (narrator: Unforgivable Wetness did not go see a play because he thought it started at 7:30 when it actually began at 7, so he decided to have dinner at the acclaimed restaurant in The Four Seasons instead).
I went to the grocery store after having that leisurely dinner. (Father calling me twice while I was there spurred me on, unfortunately.) And I'll be goddamned ... there it is, a kiosk that prints out tabs. I brought the car's information with me, and after five minutes and the tap of my credit card, out came tabs that we should have gotten almost four months ago. No, Mother wasn't crazy. She was right, and I told her that. And then, luckily, I haven't had to talk to her since. Let's keep that going; my head hurts less right now.
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