At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Monday, May 11, 2015


One of the regulars was in fine spirits when he came rolling in, as he had enjoyed a splendid Mothers' Day. Unlike his mom. And he couldn't wait to spill the details.

She's in the hospital at present. Due to her own stupid behaviour.
And it tickled him no end.

No need to worry, she'll be out tomorrow.

A much chastened woman.

Beyond doubt.

You see, the old lady doesn't like cash machines. Never has. She thinks that having to remember four digits, from a very limited selection of ten of them, all of which have their own significance and meaning, is just too much. Why, it's a horrible imposition, and as a free-spirited mystical womb-person in Marin County, she is beyond petty bourgeois slavery like that. That is something only males of the species are meant for.
Of which there are two. In the same house.
Her husband. And her son.

Yes, he still lives at home. As do many fine engineers.

He also does most of the cooking, because he likes to eat.

Apparently, edible food is ALSO a form of slavery.

Free people live on sunlight and teevee dinners.

Anyhow, for many years his mom has been in the habit of raiding wallets that menfolk casually leave unattended whenever she needs some ready cash. She always pays it back, but it's mighty inconvenient to discover when you're buying coffee at the local Starbucks that you have not a penny on you, because your mom felt like buying stuff.

A bit embarrassing, too.

Yes, I'd like to charge my venti.

No, I'm NOT just showing off my Platinum card.

Both he and his dad have repeatedly told her to stop doing that. Steadfastly she continues to borrow their funds. Every single scrap of paper currency in the captured wallet. AND she avidly examines whatever credit card receipts might be in there.

They're her men-folk, so what's wrong?
It is her privilege as a "liberating modern woman".
And she will NOT abide by the rules of a stupid machine!

Again, I stress that she always pays the money back (according to her son). But still. It's inconvenient. Irritating. An invasion of privacy and an attack on the integrity of one's personal purse.

At five-thirty in the morning she came sneaking into his room. Tiptoed across the carpet. Silently, deadly, stealthily. Gingerly in the dark, ever so considerate, and attentive to the fact that her son's girlfriend lying right next to him was a light sleeper. Didn't want to wake the girl up and freak her out, the more so as everyone was still pretending that the son was not bringing that woman into the house on weekends.

Then she stumbled over a shoe.

And fell against the dresser.

Toppling it with a crash.

Upshot: one broken toe. Wrenched ankle. And a cracked ulna, just below the flexor digitorum sublimis ( I had to look that up for spelling, as it certainly isn't a word-cluster I use every day).
Plus bruises and contusions.

Not many thirty six year old men can boast that for Mother's Day they took their mom to the emergency room to start the celebration.

And the money was still in his wallet, enough to have a fabulous brunch afterwards with his girlfriend. They had had a wonderful time. It had been delicious. Peaceful and dreamy, surrounded by platters of animal protein and various lovely buttery dishes!

As he explained while rooting around among the Nicaraguan cigars, mom was slightly sedated, and being held for a bit of observation. Several nasty bruises, and that broken toe. They may have to go in. Something like that. In any case, she wasn't coming home till Monday. His dad had gone up to the Sierras immediately after the family outing to the hospital, determined to have some quiet time away from his kin. Sometimes retired men need to be alone, and his dad deserved a few days at the cabin, with or without a bottle and a rod.

He was not entirely making complete sense at that point, because he and his lovely young lady had rather overindulged in the champagne during their meal, and had also had some cognac with their coffee afterwards. Now they both needed cigars.

Before heading back to the empty house for loud sex.

Best. Mother's. Day. Ever.

Due to mobility issues, Mom won't be able to raid his wallet for several weeks. At least until the toe and ankle are healed.
That definitely is worth celebrating.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.



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