Darling and I were talking about my crazy mama the other day.
“Does she watch TV or anything?” Darling wondered how, exactly, someone with no job, hobbies, social life, or apparent interests, spends a day.
“Maybe a NASCAR race or a football game if her man d’jour is interested in such things.”
“I would go crazy.”
Maybe that explains it. Poor thing literally has NOTHING going on in her life but her string of gubment provided doctors appointments. And it shows in her conversations, which I have grown increasingly weary of.
“What’s the weather like down there?” She often asks two or three times a day. Whatever the answer, it leads to Crazy Mama’s Theories of Weather Related Illness and Psychosis.
If it’s cold? It’s no doubt colder where she is, because no one can upstage the unpleasantness of her oh-so-stress filled life. And cold weather can be blamed for any number of maladies. Depression. Headaches. And is a wonderful excuse for doing absolutely nothing, because naturally one does not want to clean house or pay their bills when it’s cold. And of course, if it’s hot, all the same things apply.
If it rains, snows, or appears to do either, then it’s time to talk about how “these idiots” don’t know how to drive in it. Or how “these idiots” will be filling the grocery stores.
And right after “How’s the weather?” comes the equally inane “What are you wearing today?” Khakis and a button up isn’t a good enough answer. Brand, pattern, and color must also be discussed, and whatever the answer is will be followed with biting commentary on how great she looks in said color, or how it’s her doing that I like blue shirts (or tan pants, or red polos, or black shoes, etc.) because she bought me a similar outfit when I was two.
And if the topics of weather and wardrobe are sufficiently exhausted, it’s time to ask what I’m having for dinner, what I had for breakfast, or whether or not I’ve had lunch. The vaguest answers to these questions are best. If I were to say I was making stuffed chicken breasts, it would turn into ten minutes of explaining the recipe, because in her world chicken comes fried and that’s it. So, I’ve learned to just answer “chicken.”
Anything new in MY life (because there is never anything new in hers) is fodder for repeated questioning. The smallest aside that would be mentioned in passing during the course of a normal conversation is reason for several follow up phone calls. “What kind of cell phone was that you said you got?” might be reason for a call after mentioning I got a new one. Not because she is in the market herself, you realize. A day or two later, “What all does that new phone do?”. Wait a few days, and these same questions will be asked again.
Example. I recently ordered a new car. A Mini Cooper. SIX times, I’ve counted, she has asked me “What kinda car was that you got again?”. Three times she has asked“now, when does it come in?” and she will repeat each time, “and ya got it white with a black roof?” As if any of those details might be subject to change at any moment.
Do you get the picture? She has driven herself crazy with boredom, and not content insists on driving everyone around her nucking futs too.
And so, I offer a reward to anyone who will get that damn woman a hobby!