21st
in this white house.
MY MOTHER WAS IN A CAR ACCIDENT LAST NIGHT AND HIT HER HEAD ON SOMETHING HARD.
My father has the flu.
My grandfather needs to get his prostate shrunk by some sort of death ray. Because he has the prostate cancer, you know.
My grandmother needs to go to the neurologist tomorrow because her cancer ridden what have you has come up with something else that is wrong with it.
I swear to god, I am ready to fire my entire family.
Never take your recently concussed mother out to a quiet dinner. Inevitably she’ll start talking to the waitress and the waitress will tell your mom how she has a son too. He’s seven and she is already nostalgic for the way he was when he was younger. Mom then basically tells the waitress to walk it off because her son is almost twenty four and OH LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT NOSTALGIA.
Because, you know, Mom’s already certifiable anyway. In that really endearing way. Concussions at this point can only help.
Then this discussion happens:
Jay: “I’m just saying, maybe you shouldn’t have, you know, lectured the woman.” Mom: “Well she’ll just have to wait until all she gets from her son is a text message! And he calls randomly while driving! And it’s the highlight of her week!” Jay: “Maybe you should get out more.” Mom: “I KNOW.”
Then her headache comes back and there’s a hilarious forty second delay between sentences. It’s cool, I pretend my conversations are routed through like four satellites all the time anyway.
n j l