Written by Puppetmaster
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Tags: cabinet, waste

Wednesday, 7 April 2004

I try an not see it as a waste of my time cause she is my mother and it really wasn't her fault.
Some of you have certainly experienced the way mother has veered a bit off course. For instance, she'll call on the aid of her able bodied sons and convey the urgency, replete with theatrics, to move a television cabinet 1 1/2 inches to the right, only to discover her folly and restore said cabinet to its original locale. "Ok mom, not a problem, bye".

Someday she may catch on yet I fear she may be too far gone.

I am grateful that James 'The Good Son" is near to her and is able to cater to her every whim. I have sagaciously chose distance and she'll never be the wiser. Visits of patronage seem to sate her need for attention and it is with this fervor I did embark. Last Saturday I phoned mother and offered her an inexpensive yet sustaining meal at one of the finer establishments that serve such coiffed faire. I opted for the Breakfast Dagwood and her selection was a Rueben sandwich. Twelve and a half minutes of idle chatter and we were well on our way to enjoying our finest culinary choosing. The meal was exceptional, aside from a $13.00 check, I offered little in the way of companionship and had felt I had ventured and escaped relatively unscathed. Then she said it.

"Can you take me to Fleet Farm?"

Then and there I should have ran like there was no tomorrow. Had the past taught me nothing? I hesitated. I considered. "Mom, why Fleet Farm?" Never should I have asked. I should of made up one of my lies, departed and relayed her request to the James pile. All she had wanted was some potting soil for planters at her new home. What kind of commitment is required in doing that? I nayed all my hesitations and stated "sure". 8 minutes east on Highway 36 and we were soon entering a store that sells everything from Kotex to power nailers. We had to walk through Sporting Goods to come upon the Garden Center. Row upon row of L'il Cub lawn tractors awaiting their new owners. Various buddings, stems and potted fauna dotted the shelves. Towards the back were the pallets of peat, compost and potting soil. As I reached for the second bag I heard "one is sufficient". I shook my head, looked away and smiled. It was as if I had to many cookies on my plate. I had felt the victor, All I had to do was get her out of the store , past the socks and she'd be home with-in the half hour. The rest of the day would be mine having done a good thing as the dutiful son.

It happened in Sporting Goods,

It wasn't so bad that I got the cart with a squeaky right front wheel, it was the right rear wheel that seemed to be somehow locked, leaving a dull yet very visible black tire mark on the floor. The incessant squeak of the wheel did nothing to drown out the reaction of mother as that Rueben Sandwich kicked in. "BBBRRRAAATT" Ok, I'll do my best to ignore that, just keep moving. "BBBBBBRRRAAAATT" I heard it again and thought the person who said women never fart was about as dumb as the first person who ever saw a cow and said "I am going to squeeze those and drink what comes out". "BBBBBRRRAAAT" The trifecta stopped me dead in my tracks and I looked to mom and asked if she was ok. Before she had a chance to respond a pimply faced kid with a name tag that read Melvin and SECURITY had mother by the arm and was trying to usher her off to the office. "Now just hold on a minute", as much as I hate to admit it, she is my mother and there seems to be no cause for all that. It appeared that an over zealous "Melvin", newest addition to Fleet Farms orange vested Security Team, was working Sporting Goods at the time of the alleged incident. Melvin had sufficient cause and reason to believe, as he was explaining to his supervisor,that mother was trying to shoplift "duck calls and stink bait". I pointed out the cart in front of that black streak and said we just came for some potting soil. Melvin was determined that although the duck calls seem muted, there clearly lingered enough evidence to further question mother about the stink bait.

It took about an hour and a half of intense questioning for me to gain mothers freedom. I think I got the point across that "she doesn't even have pockets" or maybe it was the proffering of a strip search that won mothers favor, none the less, my day was shot. What started out as a goodwill gesture in the form of a light lunch unseeingly snowballed into an all day affair. I'm not suggesting by any means to ignore mother, nor am I insinuating to keep her clear of Fleet Farm, but I am warning you if you take her to Denny's and she orders a Rueben sandwich, She may be biting off more that you can chew.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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